Have you seen this girl?
Description?
Here.
She
is an acid-wash-jeans-and-
black-boots-wearing,
leather-bracelets-with-flannel-flying kind of girl,
the kind of girl who would rather speak
only if spoken to,
because she prefers to tell her stories through
tubes of watercolors and reluctant poetry,
and her look,
she’s heard this a lot of times, can be quite the
back-off-you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me kind, but
once you’ve jumped that hurdle, the rest comes easy.
Gold
must be stuck in between her teeth,
because every word she says is wrapped in wisdom
******* together with strings of grace, and
sprinkled with good intentions for good
measure
the length of her hair
and you will find that there are still
so much more stories woven
into the strands, you
will see galaxies in her eyes
paintings on her lips
and there are flowers blooming on the tips of her fingers,
try telling her this.
She will blush,
or she will laugh, and you will wonder
if the broken pieces of mirror on the floor
were really just an accident.
But roses have thorns, too.
Some days are thunderstorms,
and there are times when
lightning does strike the same place twice,
and she’s had a lot of those days.
Maybe she’s gotten used to
having her hands burnt from
trying to heal the earth where
it was struck, and
despite the countless times she’s
tried to wash her hands,
she still can’t get rid of the smell.
One day she’ll see that there
is new skin growing from her old wounds.
Other days her lines
just won’t draw straight,
and the blues and yellows
seem to have confused themselves
for greens and reds, and she
forgets that she is being shaped
by someone else, that
she is a work in progress
and that her cracks are being mended,
being molded,
she only has to allow it
to begin.
She’s been building walls,
but it’s time
to tear them
down.
When you see this girl,
tell her not to be so ******* herself.
Tell her
that she is more loved
than she thinks she is,
that inside her coals
are diamonds
tell her to stop worrying
to stop thinking that she
doesn’t deserve anything, well,
she doesn’t, but
remind her of grace.
Remind her that she
is worth dying for, that
even before she was formed, blood
was spilled so that one day
she’d learn how to smile,
how to cross canyons
on an invisible tightrope,
how to hope.
Tell her not to forget that.
So, have you
seen this girl?
Description?
Here.
Take a good,
long look
in the mirror.
A spoken word poem dedicated to the amazing Jireh Hong. Happy eighteenth to youuuu.