She has lines of verse on one side of the page And math notes on the other Ink stains mark her hands, Yet she can't talk to another Written words flow easy But with a person it's not so breezy She tends to stumble And not just with words does she fumble Lines running in her head She writes them down before bed And during lunch And I have a hunch They're written during study hall And during classes, one and all Poems of hers And quotes of theirs Two AM is just another time She's creating or remembering rhyme Reciting Poe as she drifts away That's how she says goodbye to another day
The less I write the more verse like my thoughts become. Before I know it I'm caught up in my own mind and accidentally ignoring the few friends I've managed to accumulate and thinking entirely in rhyme and can't focus on anything. Not that I was ever any good at focussing...