To the average person, a girl.
But to the watchful eye? A princess!

Rises from her bed after each night
With sleepy eyes and messy hair,
Yet her morning sight is such a delight,
Cuteness like that is very rare!

The Sun rises just to see her,
She is quite the cute sleeper!

A quick, gentle rinse of her face,
Elegant motions of the brush,
She gazes out of her window with such grace,
Her cheeks are rosy with a blush.

That is how she gets ready,
Her pace is nice and steady!

A graceful step, a gentle sound,
Her movement is just like a dance!
Effortlessly light, her taps bless the ground,
To fall in love takes just a glance!

A sweet melody follows
Her to everywhere she goes!

Join the dance or enjoy the play,
Beauty is found in her presence,
She has no throne of stone, yet she leads the way,
Cuteness defines her whole essence!

She has no crown and yet she shines,
A princess to the watchful eye.

I always wished
that my hands could be as gentle
as the ones I watched around me.

Elegant and musical,
the hands of those I spent time with
seemed to glide over whatever
they touched.
They were never aggressive
never snatching.

They wanted nothing,
only plucked flowers gracefully
and lifted glasses of lemonade.

They never had to hold fast
to anything
never worried about
the precious things
being taken from them.

My hands have always been
rough and calloused
prepared to lash out
to preserve me and my life.
They are fighting hands,
grabbing hands,
loving hands.

They are made to last
to persevere.

My hands have been exactly what
I needed them to be
my wistful wishes of gentleness
were just that:
wishes of someone who wanted
something different for herself.

But my hands have aided me
like none other,
and I would not exchange them
or change them for anything.

We visited an art museum today
“The Guggenheim” with it’s white spiraling architecture
I felt slightly cultured as I flipped through a book detailing an artist whose last name I vaguely recall started with a Q
Conveniently forgetting the very reason for my presence in that room being to charge my phone
Feeling educated as I recognize the names Matisse, Lautrec from my brief intro to art history courtesy of our overly enthusiastic design teacher
Basking in my elegance, taking petit little bites, of a macaroon in a cafe outside the museum
...Before noisily slurping my blood red ice tea