The first breath a newborn takes starts a countdown towards their last,
but My Girl, her breaths count upwards.
She’s on a staircase to heaven,
forget “counting” her blessings, because
she is the gift from god, the tenth Muse among the nine:
the forgotten, not the forsaken,
but I will always remember her
dark brown skin, dark brown curls,
pinpricks on her fingers, and paint strokes on her arms.
Eyes that glisten with pride, determination, confusion,
to learn more, to seek more,
to be more.
And so she picks up her pencil,
and she writes,
her name into everything she touches
including the hearts of strangers like myself.
She doesn't know me
or my love for mysteries like herself.
My Girl is eternal, she shines, and yet she is so distant.
And God knows how many times I curse myself every day
for falling in love with the Renaissance.
An alternate title for this poem could also be What Love does to You, as the narrator has fallen in love with My Girl, but they feel that she is so complex that they hardly know who she is at all (The term My Girl is not specific to a female entity, rather is just a name that I chose to define the concept of something that is so beautiful but ultimately unattainable. For the purpose of this summary however, My Girl will be referred to with she/her pronouns.). The narrator goes on to recap the many talents that My Girl has, how she fits the definition of a “Renaissance” girl, perfect at any endeavor she pursues. The poem, My Girl is supposed to convey the consequences of loving, what it does to you and how it can shake your world to the core; to the point where you notice the little details of the one you love and portray them as a deity in your perspective.
Cover Photo Source: Medieval POC