Look at the girl who carries such grace no one can critique.

Look at the boy who falls for her, regardless of how bleak or meek she is. 

Now look at the child who kicks the bucket, but then at the one who builds a castle with it.

Look at the kids who shy at the mention of their name, and look at the ones who stroll as if life is a game that doesn't require effort.

Look at the cameras flashing in front of paragons on a blood-colored carpet and ignoring the people covered in blood.

Then look at the ladies and men strutting school halls, meeting up with abhorred acquaintances while calling them "friends."

But look at those who are bonded forever, never fleeing and never experiencing ends.

The mother, the father, the divorcee, the bother.

The hermit, the celebrity, the infant, the enemy.

Inspiration surrounds wherever I go.

I always keep watch, observe, and know.

Now look at the girl writing this poem, with hands scanning a keyboard and words continuously flowing.

The screen is glowing and reflecting from her eyes that see all her compositions walk along as the days go by.