Her name is Ivy

But her presence 

Is far from poisonous.

Her laugh itches at 

The corners of your mouth

Until they stretch into a wide grin.

Her fanciful trot is light

But sturdy.

She is tough.

Ivy has always liked the color green.

It all seems fitting

The way she tickles a smile onto your face,

The way she walks,

The way her wardrobe is exclusively green.

You’d be surprised

At how UN-fitting

The name 'Ivy' is to the rest

Of her character.

I think of ivy, 

the kind that crawls down my driveway,

And i think of vines

Climbing towards the sky,

Twirling through crevices 

Between the brick walls of a library.

Feeding on the scarce rainfall

Of the summer.

I think of Ivy, though,

And i see a girl

Inside that library

Sitting alone (by choice).

She feeds off the words on the page

She doesnt follow a path written

Into the side of a building

She relies on no one, 

no solid structure,

To reach her destination.

The Ivy i know is

Best left

Unwatered.