the girl

she is
a social butterfly,
a social flutterby more like
but sometimes not at all.

she is
opportunistic materialistic
quarrelsome illogical incoherent
yet daddy’s girl

she is
no black or white,
just shades of grey that her
heart bleeds red for.

she is
old and young
sloppy and energetic
ubiquitous and the rare

she is
jade and pearls,
pink and purples and tiffany blue,
monotone shades of grey.

she is
tyger’s eyes, cooper’s heart,
mansell’s loyalty and
bronco’s affection

she is
pure tempest.
hot cold and inbetween.
plus tornado winds and monsoon rains
 
she is
sailing trips to frog island
conversations in the hammock
stayover television lala nights

she is
a writer, at a loss of words
a singer, without a voice
a dancer, wearing two left shoes
a painter, allergic to oil paints
an actress, every day.

she is
small, yet more than a handful
weak, yet seeks no protection
mouse. just mouse.

she is
a forbidden fruit.
a parenthesis of explanations
a misunderstood angst