Dirty Words

She was the girl that made dirty words pretty,
The girl that danced on paper. 
Not much breathe to pass her lips,
The silence was to rape her. 

Her air was evermore quiet,
Though she could make the pencil so sing. 
She was the air and the wind,
The paper, her wing. 

The word swam through her blood,
Just stopping short of her mouth. 
Though traveling to her hands,
Only a bit more south. 

It was a magical sight
To see her hands work their grace. 
Even the wrong words were beautiful,
Like white silk and black lace. 

Though she hardly breathed words,
Her ears were as sharp as a sword. 
She heard all of their thoughts,
And it was more than she could afford. 

Her spirit lives on in her letters,
In her poems and stories as well. 
But their words were stronger than her's,
And that was why she fell. 

With hands of magic,
It was hard to see a girl like her go.
But she was different and therefor wrong,
That was all they were taught to know. 

Even the best with the paper
Cannot beat the words spoken behind backs. 
The missing sincerity 
Is all that it lacks. 

She was the girl that could make dirty words pretty. 
The paper was her only real friend. 
Though only in a cruel twist of fate can it be
Filthy words spelled out her end.