2018 April PAD Challenge: Day 16

For today’s prompt, write a favorite poem. Maybe that sounds a bit silly, but what I mean is to write a poem about something that’s your favorite. A favorite teacher. Favorite movie. Favorite ice cream flavor. I don’t know, because I have my own list of favorites. Only you can do you…and your favorites. Who knows? Maybe this will end up being your favorite prompt this month.

*****

Re-create Your Poetry!

Revision doesn’t have to be a chore–something that should be done after the excitement of composing the first draft. Rather, it’s an extension of the creation process!

In the 48-minute tutorial video Re-creating Poetry: How to Revise Poems, poets will be inspired with several ways to re-create their poems with the help of seven revision filters that they can turn to again and again.

Click to continue.

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Here’s my attempt at a Favorite Poem:

“love is my favorite”

love is my favorite, my favorite is love
whether i’m falling into the bliss of it
or falling out into the void of losing it

love is my favorite, my favorite is love
because i feel more alive or alone or
because i feel

*****

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). His favorite really is love.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

*****

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286 thoughts on “2018 April PAD Challenge: Day 16

  1. Pat Walsh

    the favorite
    by Patrick J. Walsh

    in the sodden dirt beneath
    murky pools of flood left
    by the extraordinary heavy
    rain of stubborn mornings

    a whole field of color waits
    each tiny embryo of a bloom
    eager to rise with the warmth
    of more forgiving days

    somewhere still deep in earth
    not yet arrived in hours or
    delivered in the notion of a
    simple token of affection

    there is the start of one
    single flower green and gold
    that will be his favorite
    because he will give it to you

  2. Connie Peters

    No-Bake Cookies

    Chocolate peanut butter oatmeal cookies—No bake,
    I do not make them for fear of eating myself sick.
    I’ll bake other cookies, muffins or cake.
    Chocolate peanut butter oatmeal cookies—No bake,
    They’re so good they’re bad—No fake.
    Eating them is one habit I couldn’t kick.
    Chocolate peanut butter oatmeal cookies—No bake.
    I do not make them for fear of eating myself sick.

  3. Connie Peters

    Favorite Names

    My nephew’s wife is having a baby.
    Family members are putting possible names in the hat.
    Figuring they were cool up-to-date millennials,
    I perused popular names for ideas.
    I suggested Olivia, Jasmine, Elena, Mia, Jewel, Ruby and Emily.
    My sister reminded me that they might have a boy.
    Why didn’t I think of that? Prophetic? We’ll see in August.
    So I picked Jaxon, Nathan, Levi, Jeremy, Xavier and Zachary.
    Then she told me they are going for traditional names like
    Joe, David, John, Mary, Ann and Sarah.
    Oh, well. Still praying for grandkids.
    Maybe someday I’ll hold a baby Xavier or Jasmine.

  4. Connie Peters

    Red Orange

    R ed orange is a daring color.
    E nergy of orange and passion of red
    D eclares its presence boldly

    O range exudes fun
    R ed grabs your attention
    A nd red orange beckons with fun and enthusiasm
    N ature doesn’t produce red orange abundantly
    G od uses it in sunsets, tulips and tanagers
    E licits sensuous fun—red orange

  5. Jane Shlensky

    The Zen of Favoritism

    Favorite school,
    favorite class,
    favorite student,
    favorite book.
    Their questions
    dazzle me. Don’t
    they know?
    This one,
    here, now,
    right now,
    you.
    I can only focus
    on the present.

  6. Jane Shlensky

    Quality Time

    She spent alone time
    with each of us,
    doing things we loved,
    helping us improve them,
    telling each of us
    not to tell the others
    but “you’re my favorite.”
    What a lovely secret
    we shared with her!
    We grew up special,
    chosen; we carried
    this secret until
    we were middle-aged
    and she was gone,
    when we learned
    we are all ordinary
    and dearly loved.
    What a parenting strategy!

  7. Nick

    Hard Day
    My favorite day was my hardest.
    My best day was one I didn’t make,
    a day of marathon, when I left
    nothing on the course except the memory
    of a million fans lining both sides of the
    26 mile course cheering us on.
    It fits the Boston Marathon is on a Monday-
    Patriots Day in Boston (when Paul
    Revere warned the British are coming)
    and starts at noon.
    Sometimes the non- elite racer wins,
    the one that came from behind, the one
    that slowed to help their team-mates
    when needed in the wind and rain-
    followed by thousands of the wet and
    tired, limping, grinning-like I did 30 years ago.

    1. Jane Shlensky

      The Special Ones

      A great blue heron lifting up,
      his wingspread conducting
      a chorus for frogs, coots,
      loons, and ducks

      a red-tailed hawk catching
      the wind, keening above
      the pasture

      a dapper chickadee polite
      at feeder, one seed each time
      or bluebirds—model householders–
      coupling and parenting honorably

      a murder of crows,
      their raucous talk of carrion
      and new corn, communal,
      comic, purposeful

      cardinals, goldfinches, buntings,
      sapsuckers, woodpeckers, teals
      their colors like blossoms

      or owls from snowy to great horned
      suddenly there above me
      their search light eyes golden

      the cowbirds, the jays, the pigeons
      and gulls, thieves and rogues,
      they too have a place

      or the pteradactyl flash
      of pileated woodpecker,
      red top knot aflame,
      yodeling from tree to tree

      the feathers, wings, and songs,
      the way they see what I cannot;
      the way each one is designed,
      especially, precisely, to complement
      the world and make me glad.
      I cannot pick a favorite.
      I love my feathered friends,
      every one.

  8. trishwrites

    Some Favorites

    Watermelon sunrise
    Scent of coffee
    Lingering over the
    newspaper
    Light slanting
    through the picture window
    You in the kitchen

    ****

    An open road
    Windows rolled down
    Night breeze
    Car headlights
    cutting through
    black backroads
    Elton John
    On the radio

  9. Linda Hatton

    Oxymoron

    My favorite saying
    is that I have
    no favorites. I love
    everything and
    everyone
    just the same . . .
    except
    any foods
    containing
    meat and
    spring time
    overrun
    by summertime
    heat, and then
    there’s workers
    who are underpaid
    for the color
    of their skin
    or because
    of their age.
    I suppose
    there’s another
    thing, too. Scammers
    who prey on
    the emotions
    of others
    or take advantage
    of lonely
    elderly widows.
    Karma is karma,
    and whatever they do
    will come right
    back to them
          unless
    my irritation butts
    in. Then karma’s
    arrows will shoot
    back to me to interfere
    with my philosophy
    to not take favorites,
    but instead to favor
    everyone
    for their individuality
    and respect
    their current position
    on their own life’s
    rungs.

  10. grcran

    Favorite Flavor

    Flavorific flavorless
    Big ad delivers joyful bliss
    Favor-right favor wrong
    Your fav’rites never stay too long
    Tis fake within the fave perhaps
    For selfie gals and thoughtless chaps
    For me I’ll take it natural
    Forgoing all that chemical

    gpr crane

  11. Linda Voit

    Brown Paper Packages

    Each December
    for longer than I can
    remember we await the box
    of carefully wrapped treasures
    from Lisa in Maine – a soap
    a vintage purse
    a used book
    a dish of sea glass
    a pin someone made
    blueberry tea
    a tiny book of pages
    awaiting poetry
    and last year
    homemade jam
    with apricots she grew
    herself and a wreath made
    by an immigrant
    each wrapped in fabric
    or brown paper with
    string and a sprig of pine
    or a twig with berries
    each with a handwritten note –
    why this little treasure
    made her think of me
    or my husband or daughter.
    Except for the year
    she sent live lobsters
    we set the gifts
    around the tree for days
    absorbing the love and care
    by twinkle of Christmas lights.
    We make ourselves wait
    for Christmas Eve
    to open them.

    Linda Voit

  12. LCaramanna

    Word Choice

    I like all words –
    Long words, short words
    Easy words, difficult words
    Express-my-inner-feeling words

    Passionate words, angry words
    Sharp words, smooth words
    Beat-around-the-bush words

    Fast words, slow words
    Sweet words, tart words
    Onomatopoeia words

    I like all words
    But I favor words chosen with purpose
    Those exactly-what-I mean words
    Nothing in between words
    Specific words, accurate words
    Precise!!

    Lorraine Caramanna

  13. Cam Yee

    Flowering

    Gardenias grow outside my window,
    at night the scent wafts softly into dreams and I find
    myself lost
    in the chambers of a white heart,
    head heavy on a pillow of petals
    wrapped in a green leaf.

    The quivering wings of diminutive moths
    brush my cheeks with chalk,
    distill fine sugar from the ambient air,
    fill both hemispheres with such sweetness that I smile,
    a child’s smile,
    small,
    Still possible.

  14. MHR

    music flows like blood through my bones,
    and lyrics coats my limbs like skin;
    a voice rich and confident fuels my soul.
    i vibe with raps, where each word is spit into a passionate pit
    words swirl and connect, slang and street code.
    my favorite feeling is riding with the top down,
    where soul music blares.
    but i have a fondness for country music
    where everybody brings the music back home,
    tractors and red wagons and stars and first love.

  15. Carla Cherry

    Favorites

    I can’t stop licking my lips.

    I still taste the chocolate
    of the chocolate
    graham cracker crust
    of the sweet potato cheesecake
    he made
    just for me.
    He made two,
    and
    left the eggs
    out of mine.
    It was a surprise.
    I’m a vegan,
    he is not
    and swore he could not
    make this favorite dessert of mine
    without eggs.
    But I am a vegan,
    he is not,
    and he loves me.
    So he did as I asked.

    And I can’t stop licking my lips.
    It’s late.
    I try not to eat after eight.
    I keep tasting chocolate
    and want some more.
    And he’s leading me away
    from the kitchen
    back to our bed.

    He said,
    Here.
    Have some
    chocolate on chocolate
    tonight.

    Can’t stop licking my lips.

  16. cantka1

    When She Saw You

    She snags her gaze on you, and I see it.
    It’s a look long enough to mean something.
    So I arrange the options: lust, longing, acquaintance.
    As your wife, I consider what you might inspire.

    It’s a look long enough to mean something.
    Because there you are, a beautiful man.
    As your wife, I consider what you might inspire.
    I consider how threat can come into my claim.

    Because there you are, a beautiful man.
    There you are with that tall frame, full of kindness.
    I consider how threat can come into my claim.
    And all of it together shows me desire breathing with fear.

    There you are with that tall frame full of kindness.
    So I arrange the options: lust, longing, acquaintance.
    And all of it together shows me desire breathing with fear.
    And all of it together shows me what you might inspire.

  17. tunesmiff

    FUNNY HOW CERTAIN THINGS COME TO MIND
    G. Smith
    ≠=≠=≠=≠
    Funny how certain things come to mind,
    All of their own accord,
    Vague thoughts gather and then you find,
    Old pictures rise from where they’re stored:
    Rain splashing around our feet;
    I’m dancing with you in a downpour,
    Then you’re looking at me with your smile so sweet,
    Everything pauses for one heartbeat more,
    Making each second a second brand new;
    Each soaking step a joyful laugh;
    My world consists of just us two;
    Our universe contained in our choreograph.
    Rain, rain, don’t go away;
    You and I are here to play.

  18. Smruti

    Light is my favorite

    Bring in the light
    Bathe in the light
    Like the dawn of a new day
    Shine into our lives
    Light in my mind
    Light in every cell of me
    Light in my spirit
    Light is love
    Light is life
    Be the light
    Cos light is my favorite !

  19. bethwk

    You are my favorite color:
    that golden shine of sun on the trees in the morning,
    that deep cotton grey of dusk,
    that rich mocha brown of turned earth,
    that silvery sheen on blue waters.

    You are my favorite sound:
    the sigh of a breeze through the sycamore,
    the quiet hum of a child at play,
    the full-throated song of a joyful choir,
    the chorus of birdfolk at dawn.

    You are my favorite feeling:
    this tingle of warm sun in spring chill,
    this shiver of the spine at a memory,
    this sigh of soft satin on the inside of the wrist,
    this ease of rest at the end of an aching day.

  20. tunesmiff

    FAVORITE MEMORY
    G. Smith
    ~≈~≈~≈~
    From the very first time I saw you,
    Alone at the end of the day,
    Very quickly, I didn’t know what to say
    Or what I was going to do.
    Right under that sky, cloudless blue,
    I saw you weren’t looking away,
    Then and there I hoped you would stay.
    Everything else that I knew,
    Made my burdens seem so much lighter,
    Each plan I’d made seemed to fade,
    My dreams turned around on a dime;
    Outside, the sun shone so much brighter,
    Right away I knew my future was made;
    You created my favorite memory of all time.
    ~≈~≈~≈~
    (An acrostic sonnet [say THAT five times fast])

  21. KM

    My Favourite Game

    You hide, I’ll seek
    my way back to
    summer nights when light graces us until ten.
    Any kid from around the block can join in.
    Start after supper,
    save the jump-out-scares
    until after the little ones have gone home to bed.

    Watch out
    for the snarling German Shepherd in the backyard
    of the white split-level with the green door.
    His chain’s always stretched so tight.

    Watch out
    for the old lady in the brown stucco house.
    who paid good money for those bedding plants
    and doesn’t need them trampled by the likes of us.

    Count to fifty,
    because one hundred takes too long
    and twenty’s not enough to scatter.
    First one found is the next seeker
    and when Glenn plays, we all seek
    Like a roach, that boy, able to slip
    into the tightest, darkest places.

    Olly olly oxen free — come out, come out,
    wherever you are, whoever you are.
    We want to play again. Another round
    until the sun goes down, until someone
    gets a sliver,
    twists an ankle,
    pees their pants.

    Come back tomorrow.
    Meet at the garbage bin at the end of the alley,
    with “Sara Loves Josh B.” written in Sharpie.
    Count heads, pick partners (if it’s a twosome round),
    draw rocks for first seeker. No cheating — you hear that Matt?
    Have fun.

    – Kim Mannix
    http://www.makesmesodigress.com

  22. MET

    My Favorite One

    Late in the day,
    Close to midnight,
    Gus will come to me…
    Telling me it time for ice cream.
    I gave up my favorite
    Chocolate is not good for cats.
    We have vanilla, but he must wait.
    I slowly eat the early bites;
    Gus’s eyes narrow accusing me
    Of taking my time.
    He is right, but his face
    With a scowl makes me smile,
    When he lifts his paw, and
    I lift my bowl…
    While I laugh, I speed up, for
    My Gus is lacking in patience.
    I finish giving him a drop, for
    He has only wanted a taste.
    When finished he gives me
    One last reproachful look, and
    I laugh again… I love that cat.
    I would say he is my favorite,
    Except for Binkey
    I raised with a bottle, and
    Tillie, well she is a mess…
    They are my favorites, too.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 16, 2018

  23. jhmaloney

    Playing Favorites

    How in the world could I possibly pick
    one above all others that does the trick?
    An exemplary option that rises above.
    I can’t, I’d much rather spread the love.
    Why should I choose one when each has its strengths
    and I connect with them all on different wavelengths?
    They’re all unique and I will not compare,
    ranking them all simply wouldn’t seem fair.

  24. thunk2much

    emergency chocolate

    it’s all just wrappers now
    empty crumpled husks
    and no matter how much
    I rustle through the pile
    no matter the urgency
    or how my voice cracks
    there’s nothing left
    not even one lousy
    Three Musketeers

  25. lsteadly

    My favorite

    day a windless one in spring
    when the goldfinch arrive in full
    color my favorite

    hour a reverent one at dawn
    when the deer pass through in full
    view my favorite

    moment a breathless one in bed
    when your hands give me your full
    attention my favorite

    time, shared with you

  26. LeeAnne Ellyett

    I have struggled with today’s prompt
    my mind swamped
    with a few of my favorite things
    as Julie Andrew sings,

    Forgive me, this is lame
    I hang my head in shame
    I’ll try again to play, this word game.

  27. Walter J Wojtanik

    ALL MY FAVORITE POETS COME TO CALL

    One day I found myself,
    a poet with things to say.
    It seems I found a way
    to pull my words from my shelf

    like all the books that lived there.
    & in my words I found this place,
    a “room” where like minded faces
    Would meet and would share

    their own bits of self with me & others.
    All with a determined style ,
    words evoking thoughts and smiles
    from poetic sisters and brothers.

    Marie is a kindred soul, a friend that’s best
    at knowing my heart from the start,
    she and I remain a part
    of a ‘team’ that others dreamed to guest

    with. Then there’s always Lady De,
    Mrs. Jackson, if you’re nasty!
    Her way with words is a blast, you see
    and that’s what I love about Lady De.

    A triolet partner, that is she.
    And a poetic-pal that I adore
    is a fellow known as Salvatore.
    Honest, loving, God-fearing is he,

    the way I always hoped I could be.
    Then there is a lady that’s there when I fall, a
    gentle and passionate lady named Paula.
    She tends to know when the world has lost me,

    boosts me with a smile from 1600 miles.
    The golden girl, the heart of the planet,
    comes in the guise of rhymin’ Janet.
    She knows the words and she has the wile

    from her west coast to my east.
    Just another favorite in my poem attack
    is Alice’s prototype, Sara Mc.
    Reading her work is a regular feast.

    Some are older, some are newer,
    masters in rhyme and form and meter,
    All in the cause of our “fearless” leader,
    Poetic Aside’s Robert Lee Brewer.

    I find new favorites all of the time,
    expressive people who I discover,
    And who I would read, cover to cover,
    all of you beautiful people who rhyme.

    1. lsteadly

      What a wonderful heartfelt tribute. I just love this. And I am so happy to have met you and all of the poets here – this little neighborhood is awesome and inspiring. You express this perfectly!

      1. Walter J Wojtanik

        You rank in there too, but due to space limitations and my diminished capabilities currently I’ve failed to mention a whole bunch of favorites. Earl and Pearl and Nancy and Jane and Janet and Pamela and Sir William Preston (were you in Ted’s Excellent Adventure?) and so on…

    2. De Jackson

      I love all these peoples! I love YOU, you poetical soul, you. Thank you. The world’s a better place because you’re in it. My poetry world is a better place because you’re in it. Write on, Triolet Dance Partner.

      1. Walter J Wojtanik

        Love for you returned in kind. I’ve had tremendous poetic partners in this nine year dance, all listed above all steeped in love and the poems they espouse. This world and life of mine with out your poetic prowess would be an empty shell. Thanks, De!

  28. CMcGowan

    My Favorite Time of Day

    My favorite time of day

    is after the work is slayed

    and the moment is ripe to play

    through pages that take me away

    on adventures I want to stay

    in a fictional land today.

  29. Monique

    The Magic of Musicals

    There’s just something about
    people spontaneously
    bursting into songs,
    carrying a story
    through the melodies.
    An emotional roller-coaster
    like fireworks at New Year’s.
    Sparkling and bright
    before fading into the night.

    The dreams of the young,
    or the young at heart.
    Little lives, each one matters
    as they strut and fret,
    continuing the traditions
    established at the opera
    yet always sounding new.
    Contradictions and conflicts
    Where even villains become favorites

    Musicals are the only place
    where love at first sight really happens,
    where the weirdos and outcasts
    stand under the spotlight,
    where they dream of the impossible,
    reaching out until they get it
    or tragically fall from grace.
    Musicals challenge,
    showing us perspectives we never saw before

  30. JoMae

    Favorite Thing

    My favorite thing these days
    is to wake up to an open ended
    day with time and energy to chase
    notions down, read and write to my
    heart’s content, then fold the words,
    arrange them so they can best express
    my sentiment of life – or just a moment.

    JoMae
    4/16/18
    #aprpad

  31. Janet Rice Carnahan

    MUSIC TO DANCE TO

    The most tedious task in the world
    going through endless papers
    Meaningless sheets
    serving no purpose
    except time
    discerning what goes out
    yet to complete the task
    all I ask
    put on the dancing music
    Let me bop
    as I drop the useless things
    into the trash
    Let me enter the beat
    while I complete
    the boredom
    Not wanting an audience
    of course
    just a chorus I know
    Moving to what is joyful
    nothing is too small
    no time is wasted
    Dreary goals
    immediately enthralling
    singing is just as good
    And when the task is done
    I’ve also had fun
    now all I need is my feet up
    face towards the sun

  32. Nancy Posey

    When I try to post my poem, I’m told it’s a duplicate, but it’s not here, so one more try:
    Her Favorite Time of Day

    She loved the edge of afternoon and evening,
    when shadows lengthened
    and the last rays of the sun
    played tricks with color and surprise.

    She knew where to watch to catch the deer
    feeding on the edge of the woods
    or the family of turkeys waddling
    down the road with their chicks
    as if they owned the cul-de-sac.

    That time of day, she loved to sit and swing
    on the back porch, music playing
    in the house teasing with strains
    of fiddles and guitar.
    She listened past the silence to the wind
    tickling past the dried leaves
    running its fingers through the clover.

    With the night ahead, but enough daylight
    to read a few pages or write a letter
    long postponed, sowing seeds of hope
    for another in her mailbox in return.

    That time balanced the hard work of day
    with the ease of evening, the promise of rest.
    Sometimes she shared the time
    with family, with friends. Just as often,
    spending it alone, she rested in her thoughts,
    such a good rest.

  33. Nancy Posey

    I Am a Metaphor

    Not content to be like something else,
    to behave as another not like me,
    I am a metaphor.

    I teach the unknown, placing it just so,
    beside the known, pointing out
    just how much they are alike.

    I set up a blind date between the familiar
    and the unfamiliar, hoping
    what little they have in common
    takes hold.

    I am a metaphor, direct
    in finding connections, aware
    that word play is not play at all.

  34. MichelleMcEwen

    Favorite Time

    my favorite time
    no-work-in-the-morning time
    stay-in-bed-a-lil-longer-&-
    dream-about-you time
    get up tree-pose time
    slow-sip-my-tea time
    make-some-grits time
    and-biscuits time
    catch-up-on-my-soaps time
    lazy-afternoon time
    write-me-a-poem-or-two-about-you time
    my favorite time
    no-work-in-the-morning time
    stay-in-bed-a-lil-longer-&-
    dream-about-you time
    cuz-i-want-you-all-the-time time.

    1. MET

      there is a slow sweetness to this poem… and I like it very much… sort of one of those biscuits in the morning with hot butter and molasses kind of days….

  35. Poetjo

    Abiding Favorites

    Bukowski,
    for being
    harsh
    but still
    authentic.

    Sexton,
    for being
    elegant
    but still
    tortured.

    Wiesel,
    for being
    prey
    but still
    witnessed.

    Berryman,
    for being
    dreamy
    but still
    awake.

    Plath,
    for being
    mortal,
    but still
    eternal.

    Cohen,
    for being
    dark
    but still
    luminous.

    All of them
    for being
    gone
    but still
    present.

  36. LCaramanna

    Discarded Choices

    My favorites were your favorites,
    it really didn’t matter to me,
    as long as you were happy,
    I was happy.
    Without you
    I have no favorites,
    only a wardrobe of discarded choices
    heaped in a pile on the closet floor.
    Incapable of making a decision,
    without you
    I have no favorites
    to fashion my mood.

    Lorraine Caramanna

  37. Nancy Posey

    Her Favorite Time of Day

    She loved the edge of afternoon and evening,
    when shadows lengthened
    and the last rays of the sun
    played tricks with color and surprise.

    She knew where to watch to catch the deer
    feeding on the edge of the woods
    or the family of turkeys waddling
    down the road with their chicks
    as if they owned the cul-de-sac.

    That time of day, she loved to sit and swing
    on the back porch, music playing
    in the house teasing with strains
    of fiddles and guitar.
    She listened past the silence to the wind
    tickling past the dried leaves
    running its fingers through the clover.

    With the night ahead, but enough daylight
    to read a few pages or write a letter
    long postponed, sowing seeds of hope
    for another in her mailbox in return.

    That time balanced the hard work of day
    with the ease of evening, the promise of rest.
    Sometimes she shared the time
    with family, with friends. Just as often,
    spending it alone, she rested in her thoughts,
    such a good rest.

  38. writinglife16

    FAVORITE SINGER

    All it takes
    is just one word,
    moan,
    chorus
    or scream.
    Chaka could sing
    the phone book
    and we’d sing the numbers with her.

  39. PowerUnit

    Favorite Women

    It’s always the oddballs
    at least that’s what the boys call them.
    Ain’t normal, ain’t right
    Only be trouble down the road.
    Ain’t no satisfaction in that.
    And you wonder if wisdom lives in the head or the heart.

    They shake their heads and roll their eyes
    but the boys haven’t seen her smile,
    don’t know what it’s like to be with her,
    see the world through her quirky eyes,
    eyes that see smiles in shadows
    and whose dreams push the edges of common sense,
    eyes that see the hearts of men
    when they’re encased in fashion.

    They don’t know she plays guitar
    and sings like the quirky American Idol girl
    or writes poems about cats
    and has views on women’s rights
    that would make them all laugh
    shallowly.

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