She goes to sleep in the middle of the night
And wakes up late in the day,
She stays up late, working away,
When you look at her, you may see a mess,
She didn’t grow up dreaming to be a princess.
It may not be the first thing that comes to mind when you see
The oversized clothes, slouched back, the hair let free,
But somewhere over those dark circles,
In those eyes, you may find,
Beauty, of a different kind.
Beauty of the honest truth,
In its crudest form,
Some may consider her a little uncouth,
But you can’t tame a storm,
The last of her priorities is to hide her chipped tooth,
As she dreams of reform.
She sits uncertainly, working away,
Her hands cramped up, her eyes demanding sleep,
Yet she continues, for she has so much to say,
She can’t bury her queer heart’s feelings too deep.
With the fire of passion burning in her heart,
Her hands possess the power to tear the world apart,
Power she can use to attract ruth,
But she speaks only of her pure honest truth.
You may find beauty,
In her ungroomed nails, dried lips,
Or her clumsiness as she crashes into walls and trips
Over furniture she has been surrounded by her entire life.
You may find beauty
As she smiles through her pain,
Or in the way she sometimes seems insane,
The way she has the wit to outsmart the entire room,
But, at moments, be as dumb as a rock.
Or maybe when you hear her talk,
Maybe in her awkward walk.
You could find beauty
In her imperfect self,
In her weird mess.
But even if you didn’t,
She couldn’t care less,
For she is not an object to be admired,
But a human to be respected.
Remember, she doesn’t want to be a princess
Looking for a hero to help her in distress,
All she wants is to be heard,
Allowed to express herself,
All she desires is the freedom to be who she is,
A weird, goofy, clueless yet passionate artist,
Who’ll wake up at the oddest hour
Just to add a word to her writing.
(The word which would’ve kept her up all night
From the much needed sleep she would otherwise devour.)
-Unat Pannu