9 Feb

She looks at her naff set of crayolas,
And her eyes twirl like a spirogragh
She could never draw free-hand something quite so epic.
It would only insult his A stars 
In her failed attempt at Renoir
One swizzle of hismagic and her heart was a cricket.
And a cricket’s sharp feet, pencil ends indent his words in paper 
And make her
Yet this girl says she is fearless
She isn’t a liar. 
This is the other side of the spectrum of emotions,
But why are they so similar 

The curls and straights pirouette like pound coins flicked across a table
And she wishes she could pirouette along with them
Flinging her spectrum on all it’s fulness 
But hugging her red…

Ingrid- any feedback would be awesome  


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