Bought a fountain pen at 21,
swapped tequila for shots of
purple ink. And in my backpack
I only have an envelope, but I
will mark up every inch. I will write
your name 100 times. I will buy 99
more pens and write a 100 letters
just for you—each with 100 words—
and I will find 100 different ways
to say you are the only one.
Snow-white surface that
smudges stain, overworked
and there is blood dripping from my
fingers, nibs that prick.