Love Tarries

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Love tarries
as sunrises and sunsets,
new moons,
summer,
fall,
and winter
come and go
and another spring bashfully peaks
through the horizon.
The delay
and wait for love
weighs down my heart
with much sadness.
I feel forsaken
by love.

Men in my age range
seem to prefer model-types,
exotic foreign girls,
girls who like to flirt,
or girls who run after guys
and make things happen.
So, I’m no model,
nor do I want to be,
and beauty ultimately should come from within,
but I fault too many guys
for caring too much about appearance
and putting it on a pedestal,
and not caring enough about qualities
like compassion or intelligence or courage.
I don’t have exotic foreign appeal.
Alas, I can’t compete with that.
And I’ve never been one
much for flirting.
I appreciate genuine connection
and prefer to be monogamous
with flirting, but in dating
and not with every single guy.
I’m more traditional in nature,
and want to be pursued,
but society seems to laugh
at that these days.
I can be both traditional,
as well as for women having equal access
and opportunity in both the home and work sphere.

Love tarries
like a long, cold winter
when spring seems like it is forever gone,
and I sigh
and grow in patience,
albeit somewhat ungracefully,
in this wait for beautiful and lasting love.

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“Poet Girl”

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.

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Poet’s note: This poem is written for National Poetry month in April.  It is part of a poetic series exploring various aspects of being for girls and women, such as shyness, purity, and hope.

Link to my poems on www.poemhunter.com:

http://www.poemhunter.com/julie-a-smith/