I Have a Friend Who's Perfect
i have a friend who says she can't write poetry
who says everything she pens is not worth keeping...
she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,
her eyes are a mix of snow globes and black holes,
not even giving light a second chance to look away.
her hands
are so soft they grip the pen like a feather
and as she quills her name at the top of the page
ink spills from her veins as she writes every letter.
and i sit there,
just watching.
i shiver every time i see her pen quiver;
and i know music is being born.
she throws away papers unrefined;
pages strewn 'round the room.
on them what she thinks are just throw-away lines,
words falling to their dusty tomb.
i pick each one up one at a time
pulling them from the cracks in the floor
and each one ends up a favorite of mine
stuffed away in a dusty drawer.
i have a friend who said she cant write...
one day i'll tell her,
it shouldn't surprise her
that as soon as she picks up her pen
her words already have a home.
that as soon as she writes her name
it's already a perfect poem.
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