i admire the boy who sits between the roses bushes at lunch,
and although he may not like anything about me,
i like seeing him write his poems between the rose bushes.
i like his striped sweaters and black skinny jeans,
i like his faux-leather journal and the black pen he writes so delicately with,
i like it when he looks to the sky, as if he's looking for an answer or maybe another rhyme.
he looks so pretty between the rose bushes, he does,
he truly looks in a state of calmness that I may never come across
a.l.m
