She collected whispers
In jars on her desk
And stuffs her pockets
With mumbles
She wears a necklace
Of marbles
Crazy Cats Eyes
That see in the dark
She cries crystals
That she later places
In a row
On the windowsill
She had a scrapbook
Of flattened leaves,
Butterflies
And razor blades
She played guitar
But only ever acoustic
It better captured
Her emotions
She would not sing
Instead she opened a jar
And let some lost soul
Whisper along