the poet who sits in the corner

she drinks her martini

alone

with no muse

she traces the rim

while she listens to sad country tunes

her notebook beside her

the one with no words

full of intentions

of promises

of lost loves

of hurts

she bites into the olive

bitter like her soul

ready to forget

longing to let go

she abandons forever

to live for today

she opens her notebook

stares at the blank page

to write of sins

or of horrors

or of love songs unwritten

she clicks on the pen

on the end she has bitten

all she feels is a blank

a nothing

a void

like a little girl empty

she sits with her broken toys

no words to fill up the paper today

a teardrop falls in her glass

no words left to say

she finally became what she was so scared to be

the woman

alone

with her drink

in a seat

alone with her thoughts

alone in her world

alone with a notebook

her story unfurled

she sips down the vodka

she sits up straight

she walks out in her heels

red lips

and no date.