She isnt broken.
brown eyes never mixed with blonde hair,
stocky legs the boys never wanted and
So many freckles that they jumped off the
pages of her skin, sun spots
just looking for a home.
She isnt perfect.
her teeth arent flawlessly straight,
nails arent always filed down and
Summer drinks went down smoother
than she did, the light refracting
wasnt like her laughter
or serendipity incarnate.
Sometimes serendipity is just a word,
like timeless and intimacy and
She might have sold sea shells on the sea shore
at one point, but the sand did not make
crush-crush sounds between her toes.
Saltwater did not spray over her, recalling budding poets of
galaxies trapped in a human body, and
though she was not beautiful, she could do more than the sea did for poetry.