I am a chick
You don’t call it lit
But I read it.
I am the protagonist
The girl who loses part of herself
In every chapter of life.
And struggling grappling, striving
To dodge life’s blows
And to avoid greedy arms of time .
Discomforted, disorientated, discontented
In a world so confused and confusing.
So warped.
But like the chic in the lit
I find myself whole again.
Maybe different.
But whole again.
Because I am the chick
Who reads lit.
Chick Lit.
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