Am I allowed to look at her like that?
Is it weird,
that I think she's so nice to look at?
Oh no.
She is mine,
but I am not hers.
She is everything to me,
I am nothing to her.
She smells like candy and tea,
her hair smells like apples and peach.
She is wonderful,
and makes my head spin.
She is strange,
her mind works differently.
She laughs like everything is funny,
because she's afraid of hurting people.
YOU ARE READING
the city
Poetryand no matter how much you water scorched grass and withering weeds, you will never make a garden re-grow -M.R c.2016
