She had the strangest laugh,
A mellow sort of sound,
Mixed in a brass and treble bell.
But she didn’t care.
She always wore big dangly silver earrings,
And a black Fitbit on her right wrist.
Her eyes were a pretty blue-green,
Wide with excitement and curiosity.
Her favorite hat accompanied her,
Wherever she so use to go,
The white wool beanie stretched,
And picked from years of constant use.
She had big frame turtiose-shell glasses,
Which she always seemed to be loosing,
Much to the humor of her friends.
She always wore the same jacket,
Unless it was thirty bellow zero,
The jean jacket was from her mom’s “hippie days,
And it smelled faintly of lemon drops.
Her favorite birthday present ever,
Was a Cannon camera,
And she was hardly ever seen without it.
When she was in sixth grade,
She was bullied because,
The color of her skin,
And the way her black hair,
Was twisted into braids,
But her mother told her,
And so when the car came out of nowhere,
And she saw it through her lens,
She told her mother,
Before everything exploded in broken glass.
And every art student,
Painted in their own stye,
Somewhere on the walls of the school,
And all her friends wore jean jackets,
For the rest of high school and college.
Because a person like her makes an impact,
And a leaves a big hole when they are gone,
And I only wish she could see,
Her camera sitting in the trophey case,
Where she said jokingly it would be,
One day at the start of the semister.
She left a hole,
That she would want filled with a laugh.