the closest i come to self-love.

i am naive

not ashamed of my ignorance


a child who believes
in dolphin-safe tuna
and doesn't know
what makes thunder

who is confused by ships
and wonders what makes glass break

who goes about in bare feet
and makes soap bubbles
and asks questions
but never too many
at once

who tries hard
not to expect anything more
than the occasional smile
so that everything after
is a gift


i never wanted to grow
beyond the awkward years
of asphalt-torn knees
and dirty hands

never wanted to say goodbye
to make-believe
or undone shoestrings

never wanted to be anything
but honest
and sympathetic
and unbearably patient

i've outgrown
those pastel dresses
but held fast
to little-girl ways

or so i like to believe


sometimes i think
if i were anyone else
i'd look at the person
busy being me
and wonder how she manages
to not let common sense
cloud her eyes

but seeing as my introspective sight
has been strained to legally-blind digits
it takes some time
for me
to appreciate
all the things i don't know
and don't care to

and i forgive those
who laugh at my unknowing


i play in the dirt

that's good enough


i don't envy the person
who's busy being anyone else
with her fists full
of practicality
and sensible reasoning


she can keep her life



and you can keep yours, too




and i can keep believing
in the idea of
environment-friendly
anything