She is a little spirit,
her head escapes as springtime flowers,
only for her,
she is not dark, as midnight skies,
as she speaks the truth and tells no lies.
Her words are just a hobby,
a,not at workplace occupation.

She is what you see,
when her words you read,
a fantastic imagination.
She wants you to see what she physically doesn't,
but in her brain she does create,
almost a work of art,
She is almost the Mona Lisa,
an enigmatic work of art.
with a pen that's fueled by rocket fuel.
showing empathy and sympathy,
and clear understanding.
She wants you to be able to appreciate her weird words,
the ones she generates
To feel them,
to see them.
to breathe them.,
maybe, even drown in them,
metaphorically of course.

She never was a lunatic,
baying skywards,
at the crescent moon,
She has the sun in her hair,
and care in her eyes,
A soul filled up with passion,
as ink spots,
being ejected from her purple pen.
(C) Livvi