She taps her fingers on her desk.
She looks at each object around her challengingly.
As if she'd bite it.
She looks at her hot chocolate in the other side of the room with her bag.
She likes hot chocolate in the summer and ice-cream in the winter.
She can almost feel the warmth on her soft lips.
She bites her pencil and looks up at the board fearlessly as if you can see all the thoughts buried deep into her daring subconscious,
written all over it, word for fiery word.
Hair falls on one side of her delicate face, twitching against her breath,
Questioning her unspoken cord of flame.
I do not know her, I don't.
She is beautiful, yet not untouched.
She is perfect in all her imperfect ways.
If only she'd let me have her.
I want her.
I do not know her, I don't.
But what a sight.
And no one else will ever notice.
I am just a narrator, but 'she' my favorite unspoken story.
YOU ARE READING
Behind My Eyes
PoetryA posting of every poem that I've ever written ...in continuation, as I write new things and express myself. Experience everything that lies behind my eyes. I am not very active on this site and only have used it to draw out my talents and express...
