Hey Everyone! Sorry I haven't updated everyone in a long while. As always, sitting around doing nothing, I got the urge to write. It's something I haven't tried before so I hope that you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Edward Cullen or Bella Swan. All characters used in this story besides Josh Barring (made-up) belong to Stephanie Meyer and the Twilight series.

"Poem in the eyes of Edward Cullen"

Edward walked through the classroom with peering eyes stabbing his entire body. He heard their thoughts and shuddered in disgust. How he wished that for once he could turn it all off; one day, even an hour out of English class. He sat in the back, leaned over onto the table, staring into the void of knots and stripes within the wood. He tried to control the notion to lash out at everyone. His body tweaked with anxiety as the eyes still stared at him, marveling at his pale skin and auburn hair. He looked up and caught the eyes of Josh Barring with his piercing eyes connecting with his. Edward's eyes turned dark and he lowered his brow, causing Josh to gasp and turn forward quickly.

"Fucking humans," Edward thought, "I could be his grandfather ten times over and he would still stare at me with that feeling of angst." He soon smelled the refreshing, yet intoxicating scent of Bella Swan, walking into the room with her books near her chest. She smiled at him and sat next to him. For some odd reason, he felt a calm with her presence. He had talked to her before but the accumulating feeling in his un-dead heart, was almost unbearable to control. He yearned for her, craved her. It wasn't just her blood that smelled so sweet and satisfying, but that he couldn't read her mind. He tried on several occasions when she would fall asleep in class. He would always study her; the way she would hold her pen, scramble to find answers in her books. It was so humorous. It reminded him of a younger self before catching Scarlet Fever, ever wanting to be engrossed in books and literature. He loved to read a book and sink into the arms of words from Shakespeare, Dickens and Poe. While time stopped for Edward, the teacher soon came into, strutting with his leather bound briefcase.

"Good Morning, class. Today I'm starting of with an assignment that which will be due at the end. I want you guys to tell me something about yourself through the art of poetry. It can be anything, haiku, rhyming; just tell me something that you admire, fear, hate, love, whatever. Tell me your emotion, dreams. You will have 30 minutes to write this and then we will start calling every one of you to come up and read it. It will be graded. Get started!"

The groan from the class was enough to awaken the dead. Faces looked around with rolled eyes and disgusted faces. Edward sat there, picking through his head as to how to write what is known as art. He could write about World War I and how his father and brothers were taken from him; the feeling of dying in a hospital bed where no prayers from any priest could do any good. He grabbed a piece of paper from his binder and laid it in front of him. He stared into the blue lines and white abyss of that paper. His mind ran blank; none of any ideas he sought to write would come out. There were no words; no such emotion as to put onto a piece of paper for it would ever compare to how it felt to lose or to die.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bella, writing furiously on the paper, digging into the paper with her felt pen. As he watched her, the overbearing feeling was back and his heart ached to feel that touch. It was almost unbearable to sit there and try to write everything out. Edward sighed and grabbed his pencil. He then closed his eyes, conjuring up words that would only describe that one that would describe him or of him. He began to write, slowly; carefully making sure that every line was precise. Soon the infection of writing hit him and he couldn't stop. The paper soon filled and his words were placed onto that notebook sheet, faster than a fever could spread. Soon a few lines were used, then a half page. He couldn't stop. The feeling of that paper move across his pristine skin only enticed him to write more, enticing his heart.

"Ok, class. Pencils down," the teacher announced, "No more words; no more thoughts. I'll be going in alphabetical order and while you read your words, I'll be grading you on cognitive thought and expression. Your words are not to impress anyone here so don't write something just so you can pass the class. I'll begin with James."

"Shit," Edward thought, "I really do not want to do this. Why can't I just be left alone?" He looked over a Bella, she raised her head, letting a few locks of her wavy brown hair fall down her back. He longed to put his fingers through those locks. She turned his way and smiled warmly at him.

"Edward."

He couldn't keep his eyes off of her after she broke the connection. He didn't want to move or breathe. He wanted to live in the moment forever with that smile.

"Edward!" raised the teacher's voice. Edward shook his head and looked up.

"You're next," the teacher motioned him to come to the front. A couple of students in the front row giggled at the embarrassment. How Edward could just silence them all at once, so that he wouldn't have to see their sneering faces again. Edward got up and walked casually to the front, holding his paper out in front of him. He took a small breath as he began to utter the words that sprang from his heart.

A glowing being of unbridled allure.

A cast that no glowing moon could ever re-create.

For this; gentlemen is beauty.

It's neither hand nor foot as Shakespeare could ever make.

A moving grace, a softer face

That lulls me to sleep with dreaming more of her.

The glowing eyes; that sparkle that resides

Never to be compared to anything of importance.

For this, she instills me the want of her, the taste.

A scent of warming essence

Bella's head came up from her book and she listened intuitively as Edward continued with his poem. For some odd reason, she felt that he was speaking of her. Every time she would have a class with him he would stare at her, taking her in. She would make eye contact with him but it would be him that would break it and he would go into his books again. She would go back hers but he eyes would come back and be penetrating the outline of her body, the way she smelled; imagining how good she would taste of her own salts and perfume. She felt a small smile start to turn the inner corners of her mouth; hiding it with her hands as she listened to the words coming from this mysterious boy.

Invigorates the natural being of my soul

As I watch her from a distance and know that she is real.

As beauty can take its many disguises

I have found her one true face.

And gentlemen, I'm forever fond and captured in her hand.

Hypnotizing, memorizing of the blooming elegance that is she.

I yearn to touch, the soft unbridled spirit that makes her.

I wait, impatiently as she will never know the truth of my fixation.

The room went still as his final words came from his mouth. His teacher sat there, scribbling with his glasses dangling at his nose. He soon stopped as Edward folded the piece of paper in half.

"Very well done, Mr. Cullen. I was extremely, as you say it, fixated on how you used your words; how you spoke them. Have you done this before?" asked the teacher, holding his pen against the fat part of his lower lip.

"No, sir. I have not."

"Strange," the teacher said quietly, "Well class; this is a great example of someone who knows how to win with words. Great job, Mr. Cullen."

Edward waited for the grade, but it never came. He walked back to his desk and placed the piece of paper in his backpack. Bella leaned over and whispered quietly, "Nice play on the use of beauty."

"Thank you," he replied and went back into his books. He felt so happy that Bella noticed his unique talent that he gained over the years. He soon sat back in his chair, and raised his chin, finally feeling a surge of honor and accomplishment swell over him.

As the last student read his final phrase, the bell rang and soon, students scrambled toward the doors. Edward got up, followed by Bella, escorting her outside of the classroom. He then took a turn down the hall toward his next class. Bella walked through the groups of teenagers, gawking at cell phones and text messages left during class. She finally made it to her locker and soon began to put in the combination. As she gave a tug at the lock, it released opening the door to her little, tight storage container. She swung her backpack forward and onto the floor. She noticed a stray paper hanging out of the side, and pulled it out. She opened it to find herself reading the poem that Edward wrote in English, She looked back down the hall to see Edward watching her, smiling. She smiled back and turned toward her locker.

"I knew it," she said softly to herself, grabbed her chemistry books and shutting her door with a loud, steel thud. She walked up the hallway toward her next class, holding the folded paper in her hands. She walked casually into the classroom and saw Edward. The poem recited through her head and she thought to herself as she placed the books onto the table.

"How fair thee are fine Edward. For thee shall know that the fever thee talk of, is embedded within me and yet years for your every move. For I know truth of this feeling, and you will soon."

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