Written by: Isabel Victoria Barrios
ABM 1F
Photo: Liz
A glide within your pencil,
you don't need a fucking stencil.
You're always so quiet,
but your sketches reveal a riot.
The way your hands shiver
when everything seems out of place,
you often compete with people
as if you're in a race.
Everyone knows you're quite mute,
but I don't get why people find it cute.
Your eyes reveal glimpses of some kind of fear,
you were never given a wheel to steer.
You migrated to this land without having your own stand,
but you always had your hands -
every tissue, bare and still
with angst and love that gives you fill.
You're always so still
and your dad is quite ill.
Your social life is dead,
yet you worry about no lead.
You swish and swoosh with all your might
in hopes of your budget no longer tight.
You shade and crumple with frustration,
but you will be something -
I say without hesitation.
You're talented and capable,
don't overthink about what you bring to the table.
Close your eyes and feel the adrenaline,
you don't belong to a rusty bin.
Forget about the itch down your throat,
don't let anyone float your boat.
Express, scream if you must.
Feel it from your head
down to your bust.
You are free to do as you please
for everyday I wish you'd seize.
You give me hope,
I'd never exchange our friendship to see the pope.
You really are nice, Liz -
you're better than any fresh cola fizz.
You revived the arts with burning passion,
creating output- not forced, but with compassion.
