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Trickling streams released from ice
The return of feathered friends above
Blossoms of plum and cherry sprouting
Rays of sun captured in morning fog

Where does this infant season take you?
To pastures of wild flowers as far as you see?
Along creeks buzzing with young flies and bees?
This infant season is my favorite time to live

Take these weary bones and let them
Soak in the season's infant rainfall
Now is the time for rebirth and
Revitalization of the heart
two wonderful years
of being in love's divine hold
theirs a sweet coupling

may my special friends
Winn and Wolf's togetherness
be truly festive
These are some beautiful things:
A baby's first smile,
A bird in the wild,
A bride on the aisle,
A love that's worthwhile,

Warm wind in the trees,
The salt in the seas,
The buzz of spring bees,
Winter's first freeze,

A loved one's laugh,
A child's handmade craft,
An actor's autograph,
A newborn calf,

The sunrise in the sky,
And the sunset alike,
And kind passersby,
The stars in the night,

The wind in one's hair,
Sweet spring on the air,
A mother's care,
A child's prayer

The color of skin,
True feelings within,
The sound of violins,
And feeling sheepskin,

A book in my hands,
My feet in the sand,
Stories of another land,
And the promised land,

The leaves in the fall,
Mountains like walls,
Sounds of a waterfall,
The smell of rainfall,

Peace after war,
And petrichor,
And sand on the shore,
And a winning score,

Peace at night,
And perfect light,
And a first sight,
And a flying kite,

A smile so dear,
A kiss so clear,
A loved one near,
And a new come year,

And hope that everything will be okay

These are the beautiful things
I could go on and on and on about beautiful things, even ones that don't rhyme. I fall in love with the little things, like how my friend only eats apples with a knife, or how my mom never actually drinks her coffee, she forgets about it and leaves it in the microwave ten times a day. I love that my cat can tell when I can't sleep and comes and lays right up against my back and purrs to help me sleep. I love that whenever my best friend is thinking, she subconsciously touches the back of her thumb to the indent above her upper lip. I fall in love with little details. There are just as many beautiful things in this world as there are ugly ones. Don't forget to savor them. ❤
in the golden skies
rain and sun intertwine to
make rainbows above
Good morning you beautiful people, you!
 Mar 2017 Tinker Bell
Hannah
Tomboy
 Mar 2017 Tinker Bell
Hannah
I remember the first time
that I was called pretty.
I was eight years old.
I remember feeling
a bubble of insecurity
hover around me,
like an ant
under a microscope.
At eight years old,
I had experienced
my very first wave
of expectations of women
in a male dominated society.
I had no idea
that would be the first
of many by the time
I reached womanhood.
I was just a child.
I loved playing in the dirt,
and capturing bull frogs.
I was a girl
who played like a boy.
I never thought I was pretty,
not because I had
low self esteem,
but because
I was eight years old.
I was to young
to have pretty
wrapped up in my identity.
Fast forward
eight more years.
I am sixteen now.
I am no longer
playing in the dirt,
or capturing bull frogs.
I am painting my nails
bright pink,
and dying my hair
every two weeks.
I am trying to be pretty.
I am no longer
feeling the bubble of insecurity.
I am living in it
twenty four seven.
I am always concerned
with how I look,
how I act,
and what I say.
I am a girl
who is no longer a tomboy.
I am just a girl.
I no longer know
who I am,
because I am
not allowed
to be who I am.
I am expected
to sit quietly
in the corner,
straightening my hair,
perfecting my makeup,
so that a boy
who loves my body
can tell me he loves me,
and make me his wife.
Fast forward
4 more years.
I am twenty now.
I am numb
to the insecurity.
I am now expected
to live in a suburb,
raise three kids,
clean the house,
love my husband,
and my white picket fence.
I am just another girl
who is seen as pretty.
I am living a lifeless life.
I am at a crossroads
to either stay down
under the weight
of societies expectations,
or burn my picket fence
right down to the ground.
I am remembering
that tomboy I was
before I was called pretty.
I can either reconnect
with her fierceness,
or hide beyond a mask
of beige concealer.
I can either be a dove,
or I can be a phoenix.
I think
the choice is obvious.
~ tomboy ~
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