• why are you in detention? •
i asked him curiously
when i finally accomplished
the infinite building
of my brick wall of confidence.
• i'm not. •
he said simply
allowing me to
peer over his shoulder
to catch
what he was working on.
• why are you here, then? •
he looked up at me.
gracious gorillas
his eyes were beautiful.
• usually
i'm catching up with homework. •
he pointed to his essay
of sloped joint writing.
• usually? •
he smirked;
and i swear something caught
in the back of my throat.
• well
you see there's this girl •
holy mother of potatoes...
was he...
talking about me?
• and she's kind of a bitch •
he was.
he was talking about me.
and then he looked over
to the front of the room
where miss innocently pretty
sat with her back turned from us.
her milky tea coloured skin
illuminated by the suns rays
made her appear like a mermaid
with perfects skin
and perfect hair.
she was the only badass kid
in this room.
rumor has it
she was found smoking
in the staff room's toilets;
her body rapped provocatively
around a male teacher.
• and she's been on my mind for ages... •
his eyes came back to me
full of lust
and smiled.
but i did not smile back;
because wasn't talking about me
after all.
YOU ARE READING
shaded wings
Poetryher wings would bloom when the pencil drew shades of black and white and tare into two when her body flew into the camouflage of night her heart was sewn to anyone but her own forgetting to love herself but there's a boy that knows his love for he...
