She is shy, sensitive, confused,
and sweetly earnest.
Sometimes she wears
her heart on her sleeve and
her heart beats
with a passionate crescendo.
Hurt creeps in
and her heart becomes
weary, burdened, and timid.
Sometimes she wishes
to bury her heart,
to deny her heart.
She doesn't always understand why.
Her poetic words flow fast
when she is inspired,
but sometimes she is too tired to write.
Sometimes she wishes she had more time to write.
Pragmatism can crowd out the poetic,
and that makes her sad.
She likes her yellow pages
in her old Webster's dictionary,
and she finds adjectives incredibly cool.
She wishes grammatical perfection
came more easily to her,
but, alas, grammar is a struggle for her.
She likes words and communication,
and she finds her voice
in the power
of the written word.
Poetry is beautiful to her.
She is a poet girl.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem