Focus
she reads
her crazy showing more than usual
"I'll **** him"
she says
her jersey accent strong like my morning coffee
"I'm joking"
she laughs
her presence making it hard for me to
Focus
her voice makes my mind think of lazy Sundays
blankets above us like canopy's
awnings that hold nothing but past memories
a glance in a tenth grade math class
suddenly fourteen year old me couldn't
Focus
no she was not perfect
her mind a bit to wild
her eyes a sliver to beautiful
her laugh a tad to intoxicating
her voice a pinch to sweet
her a bit to
Focus
I fell in love  with the
artistic, the crazy,
the jersey girl who with her extensive collection of art supplies
sketched
drew
and painted my world.
every color a pastel oil
every shape a charcoal sketch
everything she touched
vibrant like neon signs and now that shes gone i cant
Focus