he was soft
everything he did
seemed poetic
and meaningful
even the way he yawned
he was simple
no fancy clothes
nothing like that
no
he would just glide
as a cloud
into math class
and let his mind
float in steam
because math
hurt his head
i would look at him
and he could be
considered just
a normal student
in my everyday
math class
i've never spoken to him
but i have a feeling
that his voice would be
so light
and airy
that when it left
his mouth,
it would rise
like gas
into the atmosphere.
YOU ARE READING
flecks of charisma
Poetry(old bad poetry don't read pls ahhh) flecks of charisma is a quintessential guide to not knowing how you're feeling, not knowing how to deal with it, but knowing how to adjust your life around it. some days are tough and some days can elongate into...
