Work Text:
Belle is not scared of beginnings.
Sure, starting is the hard part, but
she begins every day with a
White, blank page.
She’s even hung one on the wall;
it represents all that could be.
This isn’t a horror story.
It’s a white, blank page.
But why is it still so empty?
Why is it she can’t write good poems?
Why is it the syllables can’t
Just fall the way they ought to do?
Why is it Belle’s never good ‘nough?
Not in anything she tries to
do. There’s nothing for you anymore.
There never really was, it’s just
a white, blank page.