The kind of girl; a love letter to my younger self
she is the kind of girl who stops in the
middle
of the street
just to take a photo of the
sunset
who lets the horns honk.
the kind of girl who halts traffic for a good view
who
speaks to stray cats like she’s conversing with old
friends,
discussing their woes over dinner
who always smiles at children flopping through the grocery store
as if to say
“I know, it’s tough, sending love to you
and your too tight shoes”
who saves small worms from the scalding
summer sidewalks
who collects acorns in her desk
and waits for magic tree houses,
who cries after not recieving her letter from hogwarts,
desperatly trying to understand her differences,
convincing herself she must simply be a witch
the kind of girl who pierces her own ears,
and rips through her too long hair
with razor blades.
Who indulges in the legends of her home town
in hopes to one day become one.
The kind of girl who writes
obsessively and incessantly
but only out of necessity
who needs a good story just to keep her head above water,
who’s solace is found in characters and play
who wants nothing more than to feel connected,
to understand her own mythology
who loves life more than anything else
even when it doesn't always love her back
The kind of girl who walks barefoot down streams
makes friends with the flowers and
weeps when a cold April takes them too soon
The kind of girl who turns to the stars to point her in the right direction
Who knows the sound of rain can hold all the secrets of the universe
And the old tabby who lives in the school yard is wiser than
Us all
She will always be there for those she loves
even if she's the third friend on a two person sidewalk
The kind of girl who knows how to listen for hurt
presses an ear against your chest
to notice when your heart drops
hoping to catch
before the break
The kind of girl you don’t have to ask twice
to bring back the toys from the playground
when the other children forget
she has an eye for lost things,
hoping to return home
I hold her with me,
as I walk through these foreign lands,
her ear against my chest,
from the inside out this time,
waiting for the drop,
I honor her here,
carry her with me, and in moments of stillness, when my laugh lands just right,
I hear her,
hold her, I know she is with me,
and she is humming an old tune
