In·gé·nue

Dear Jackson, 

Picture this, soft.

thin arms

dainty wrists

baby pink

a soft pink, the kind that glows on the skin, and grows in the cheeks.

 

Feel this, tender.

warmth  

luminescence

again, soft.  

Think in soft ways, in small ways, in tender ways, and you will see her.

Her

She speaks only with a stolen sense of safety, laughing in the face of danger.

Her skin vibrates with a need for knowledge but her heart runs on a false sense of sensibility

She’s longed for by many [cruel] but pitied by most

Throwing her arms around the souls of the damned

Trust falling into the arms of the broken

You see her, but you do not understand. The soft girl grasping for anything

But don’t be discouraged, you will come to understand

This girl is blind

She is white eyed in the face of experience and pink-cheeked in the presence of questionability

Soon this soft-girl, this trusting-girl, this glowing-growing-girl

Soon

Will throw her arms a little too hard around the damned and fall a little too far into the broken, she will laugh too hard in the face of danger and our girl will be forgotten

 

Consumed, by the kiss of reality

She will become the knowing girl,

The showing girl, the crying-hiding-hurting girl

But don’t be discouraged, you will come to understand

She is still your growing girl.

 

With Love,

Your ever-growing girl

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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