Sometimes On a dimly lit sunday morning When the dew sets gleefully on wildflower and freshly sprung grass And the only sound that surrounds me in the faint whistle of a tea kettle, over a lit stove I am a girl
A girl in the way that pancakes rise over and fall at the suggestion of arrival And boysenberry jam meets the corner of a mouth
A girl like the bright pink lips that swallow them A g irl in the way skipping sounds on wet concrete Primary affairs and linoleum hallways, Like green braces and familiar places Beads, wooden and plastic, letters pool on desks and tie friendships together for lifetimes
A girl in the arms of a father
Sometimes I feel like a girl in prepubescent rage In shouting the lyrics along with the radio In liking a boy so much that my pride eats me and spits me out In the way I check under my bed for monsters at night
Sometimes the girl is scared and gazes up at the stars and recants constellations, all by the wrong names, and like clockwork, rises and spins around with open arms in the deep blue
A girl like a rose petal falling on a lost lovers cheek Like a locker filled with sticky notes Like magnets on a fridge And fresh oranges on the kitchenette Like a bandana wrapped around a pale neck Like hickies the day before a big test
Like the crackle of a patchouli candle Like reading past bedtime
Like Jane ******* eyre. Like teenage angst And “mother you just don’t get me” Like Sylvia Plath and a Taylor swift chorus Like Heart break First kisses in a cafeteria to a boy named Jeremy Or Josh It doesn’t matter what his name is But it did once
Knives cleave open my shoulder blades and tears stain my face And the dog in my rib cage rip apart ego Peels me apart And plasters me back together again.
I have felt like a girl before But the parts that make me one pale in comparison to what girlhood feels like I have been a girl And the girl is still here Watching Waiting For the last cookie in the cookie jar