Flannel Shirt Princess

Kind somewhere. Probably has a 

degree in literature. Keeps her eyes

on the small things. Gives her heart

to the moth wings and marvels at

the defiant leap of the frog - 

gravity saying "not today little one,

you're not getting to the moon 

anytime soon". 

Still has posters on her wall. Wishes

she didn't have to explain it all and

that people would understand

it's OK to be enthusiastic. It's OK

to care. I hear that she has a fine

china tea set, not because it's fancy,

but because  

it was a gift her Godfather got her

for her first birthday. Finds it hard

to practise detachment, so the 

battered old bear is still there,

a relic from a lover gone some time

ago. 

[She still has his number saved on her

phone, and when she's all alone,

hesitates a finger... wants him to ring her,

because she loves hearing his voice,

and it wasn't her choice]

At home in washed out jeans, reading

recipes for things that all sound

extravagant and exquisite. But she 

settles on posh toast, later on

the Sunday roast, and packs a few 

biscuits for her walk in the pines

jutting out near the mines 

where her simple father broke his back

for the cheap bric-a-brac that

adorned the family home. 

She's frightened at night by the 

sheer delight of crawling beneath 

the covers. By the lamplight she

reads of the misdeeds of others,

and sighs at all the malevolence 

in the world. Eyes that won't lift

and thoughts that do drift,

as she wonders through the

realm of her dreams.