Untitled c. 1994
She looks like an angel,
or so it seems,
with a head full of thoughts,
and a heart full of dreams.
Her voice is a whisper,
softer than the evening sky,
a smile like no other,
and gentle eyes.
Her eyes of blue and locks of the sun,
she is silent;
she belongs to no one.
Notes:
So this is obviously written about myself by myself. I’d laugh but I’m too busy throwing up in my mouth. Bad poetry, indeed! Also, wtf is up with all the commas?
