Simply
You’re not extraordinary,
breathtaking
or hard to believe
but, you have an eye lock,
worth noting
that can be jarring
and even impossible to forget,
once knowing.
You’re not exotic,
dumbfounding
or supernal.
You’re just a girl
becoming a woman
but, it’s a transition so slight
to the human lens,
to blink could mean missing the best part.
Your naivete is a larvae that has yet to move,
but you are not so artless
that is hurts to watch.
You could be sophisticated
but then you would be catalogued
like vogue or esquire
and that’s not you.
Your type is temperate in its allure,
subtle in charm and sly with its staying power
like a bad first impression.
I almost don’t want to look
but, whenever we share a room
I can’t… not
and the draw is brutal, knowing you
will never belong to me.
You are not polished,
cultured or flawless.
You are unapologetic,
belching in public and
anything but bashful,
changing your blouse down to a wife beater
with two people plus storefront windows around.
You are self assured but, socialized to be insecure.
You have press on nails, dyed hair and will not go anywhere,
without make-up and a designer fragrance.
Still, you are not perfect by their standards.
You buy water bra’s because you think your breasts are too small
and you pluck your eyebrows
too far back from the bridge of your nose,
trying to smile like some docile figment of a woman
from an advertisement.
But baby, that’s not you.
You are not senseless,
incapable or destitute.
And yet there is a demeanor that precludes you
like a porcelain doll with painted tears.
Something about the way your face sits
when you’re staring off,
that calls to the mother waiting to be made of me,
every third week of the month.
She makes thoughts of planting little wallet sized kisses
inside your palm
and feeling your forehead for trouble.
She worries about you trying too hard
and I,
I just wish you would be happy
that you are, so facile and simply,
beautiful.
