She with choppy, short black hair
I see the looks peers give to her, though she seems to not care
She strays from popular style and flair
But the loyal few love her and not what she chooses to wear
After close observation, looks to her wisdom can only compare

Her vocabulary—too packed to bear
Fluently speaking, though never slipping a swear
In every situation she’s so alert and aware
She’s willing to take her knowledge to educate and share
To question her words, one should not dare

She’s a victim of circumstance—her life is unfair
Sometimes I can see her sad face and my heart begins to tear
The occasional, awkward eye contact leaves me with no air
To me she’s just so beautiful that I always seem to stare