There is a pretty girl
Who sits three seats behind me
In French class
With hair to her thighs
She colors her nails
With Sharpie ink
Because polish is for the polished
And she is not polished
She never speaks in class
But belly-laughs at jokes
She clears her throat constantly
Like she has a point to make
I do not know her name
I do not feel for her romantically
But she fascinates me
And I want to know her
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the odd one out is often eternally fascinating liked this smiffy