(This is and isn’t a metaphor about how I don’t care what people think, I don’t know if that makes sense. I don’t normally write poems.😅)

She flies over the sky.

I think she makes people die.

I think she is bad luck.

I think she don’t give a -beep-.

But she’s just flying.

A child looked up at her and started crying.

Not doing anything.

Nothing.

She looks down on us.

She always smirks, it’s a must.

She knows what we think.

Her mind as sharp as ink.

People stare and stop.

As she flies atop.

Over and up high.

She flies over the sky.