A poem dedicated to a fellow writer for her inspiringly free spirit. |
The Free Flowin’ Flutterby She saunters in; a diamond mole Flickering in her left nostril. Her full, loose curls effortlessly Gathered behind her neck. Her slender hands rest easy In the front pocket of her emerald hoodie. Caressing her bare ankles, A faded, flowing hippie skirt Hides two stubbly legs tapering down to Naked feet in neon pink flip flops, Her toenails painted the same screaming color, Chipped just here and there. The free flowin’ flutterby Her throat gives voice to Croakspeak, Like her words must first struggle against Her sandpaper vocal chords Before they stoke the spirit of her listeners. Her camouflaged book bag shelters a worn Wire-bound notebook, its cover flooded with Inked revelations of a restless mind. With her “eleventhfinger”, she scribbles her soul. She teaches, inspires passion, Word manipulation, unbound ideas, and raw hearts. The free flowin’ flutterby Her freedom’s infectious. Her wings warmly embrace; Giving water and sunlight to The wing-buds of the chained. Her smile finds itself on your face. Her eyes lock yours, intense, open. They speak, and for that moment You’re free Free as the free Free flowin’ flutterby |