i’m just a plain girl, most lazy days —
frills and fuss aside, i’m skin and skepticism
about what makes a girl a beauty a goddess type,
when really, we all start with the same porcelain dreams
and windowsill skies.

i’m a daring girl, some nights —
a brighter thing of eyeliner bravery
and midnight masks,
the glow of curious eyes a certain sad drug
causing me to mark my steps
across a crowded room
and ration out the coyest smiles
as if i didn’t practice them for photographs
and saturdays.

i’m a hopeful girl, always —
a quiet soul with too loud a voice,
a trusting debutante with a jaded lease on love.
i’ve caught the delicacy of life in mid-air
with the urgency of blown-glass romance
tossed carelessly my wanderway
and hold my own (or so they say) —

and yet i fumble like a nervous child
when someone like you slides on through
and stirs the latent oceans inside my summer eyes
with a wisk of a passing glance.

just a girl