Out Of Style Poem by Aria Ellen

I’m out of love
I’m out of style
This store is fresh outta hope.
Don’t come to see me anymore
The changes may scare you
Scare you, yes I do.
Where do my words end?
With the paper
With the pen
Or ink
My words go at least to my hand
My hand, my hand holds the pen
The pen holds the ink
The ink grabs the paper
What a lovely process
Through and through
Through and through
Is all I care about
What am I not holding?
What is no one holding?