Poetry, Prose and Cinnamon
She's a sweet pretty thingAll hard poetry soft prose and cinnamon
She doesn't know why she feels this way
Or how to play the hand she's been given
Everything drags by too fast
She can't keep up with everything
(Or is it that she doesn't want to?
She could do anything
She could)
She loves her boys
One, all elemental
Water, wind, fire, earth
Dance and song
Play and tease
Laugh and growl
Fun and not much more
Another, her equal in every way
(Every important way)
Her second brain
Finishes her sentences
Starts her thoughts
Pulls her back to who she's supposed to be
Likes her for who and what she is
(And maybe he always will
But she doesn't trust that
Can't, even though she wants to)
Elemental, abstract, thoughtful and careless all at once
Another, a reminder to be careful
Because he wasn't
...That hurt...
He hurt her
He didn't pay attention, didn't want to
Missed every important cue
Dodged them
And she doesn't want to go there again
Giving so much and getting so little
And there are so many
Too many to mention
And she loves them all
But she doesn't love any of them
Doesn't love them like that
Doesn't want to
See, she's not there yet
She's unsure of herself
If she can't find her feet, I know she can't find her heart
It seems like that would be the wrong order
To find the heart before finding the ground
So she's grounding herself again
She's trying new things
Talking to new people
New kinds of people
Doing things that scare her because she wants to know
Why she should be afraid
And usually she finds out
She shouldn't be
She wants to leave
But it's too large of a task
She doesn't know where to start
How to stop
When to play
How to work
When to breathe and always she wants to know how to
Just be
How to find the balance between letting things be
And letting one too many things go
She's erring on the wrong side
Letting everything slide by
Falling behind
And crying
And screaming
And she's even thrown a few things
God, but she feels small
And this is time for her to be larger than she's ever been before
To be grown-up
Not even pretend
No, this is real
This is it, folks
Can baby do it?
Can she?
She's so spoiled
So inept
Full of poetry prose and cinnamon
And not much more
Aw, but she's too dumb to know she's an idiot.
Watch this.
She's going to try again.
Copyright ©2003, Emma N. Davis
(An addition from Bethany which she demanded I post....)
She's going to give her all
Making a dash for the starting line
So she can run the race with everything that's in her
And hit the finish line someday
A winner to her very core
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