Picasso, like the artist

I saw her walk by and her red hair glistening in the sunlight reminded me of sweet cherries on a warm summer evening. I say "glistening in the sunlight," but it's more like "her hair reflected the sparse, almost dim, fluorescent lighting of the school library." She sat down, of course not noticing me at the other end of the table. Perhaps she didn’t see me because it's been too long since she got a haircut, and her bangs are overgrown and cover her eyes. Yeah that sounds right. She took out pencils, pens, markers, highlighters, I almost expected her to pull out a full size easel, but then I realized it wouldn't fit in her small grey leather backpack. Instead of an easel, she pulled out a simple, plain, ordinary, spiral notebook. I was almost disappointed. She opened it and scribbled down what I assumed to be some notes for a class that's so advanced for me I wouldn't even think they offered it at this school. She wrote intricate paragraphs, put b...

I saw my reflection in the mirror When I tried to look behind it I got in my way I noticed a strand of hair, slightly out of place I noticed the pimple that formed on my face I tried again, I thought I had heard something- But I was enraptured, instead, By my teeth’s subtle amber shade  And my facial hair, overdue for a shave I had known something was wrong, Next thing I knew I was lying on the floor And as I drew my last breath, I was happy I couldn’t see my flaws anymore  - Julie Picasso This poem is the first I've ever really tried to do. It's not very nuanced but I think it's neat. I'm experimenting with different forms of writing at the moment. Thanks for following my blog. Stay tuned.