ode for the girls in seventh grade

you’re perfect.

all of you.

and i don’t need to say more

but i will

because i want to write about every one of you

although you might not want to hear it.

so i’ll keep it short. here you go.

this is an ode for the girls in seventh grade.

for the girls at the lockers, in my classes, on the buses,

dressed in hoodies and jeans and leggings and sweatpants

and all so pretty. 

please don’t tell me you’re not pretty

because i am the one who passes you in the halls

every day and compliments you in my head. even if i

don’t have breath to speak you still should know you’re beautiful.

this is an ode for the girls in seventh grade.

for the girls staring out the glass while the world 

slips by, chin in your hand, eyes sparkly with dreams.

maybe you are thinking about poetry or album covers 

or nothing besides the shaking

of the branches in the wind. you

are lost in the painted ocean of your head and my voice

startles you gently out of the sea.

this is an ode for the girls in seventh grade.

for the girls who walk in clusters,

pulled together like planets

in orbits that somehow align;

and for the girls who trail their fingers along the walls

& walk alone, who can carry their own galaxies.

i brush past and wish upon all of your stars.

this is an ode for the girls in seventh grade.

for the notebook doodles,

the smiley faces, the hearts,

the stories you tell in the margins

of your notes, prettier by far

than paying attention. you bite your lip

when you’re called on and look my way

with a hopeful spark caught in your eyes. 

i think you’ve caught on by now; it doesn’t take much to win me over.

this is an ode for the girls in seventh grade.

for every time you seem to appear,

to materialize amidst the neon lights

& flash a thumbs-up, a grin, a heart

cupped in your curved fingers, your outstretched hand.

it makes my day,

did you know? my mornings, my afternoons. i am lightened

by the promise of being enjoyed.

this is an ode for the girls in seventh grade.

for your awkward laughter in the cafeteria

when the microphone takes three tries to work,

the genuine smiles on your faces splitting even wider

as “happy birthday” pours out from the surrounding crowd.

for your bracelets that clink together like wind chimes

when you wrap a tight hug around your friends.

for the way you trade gum and pens and secrets

like offerings,

like proof of something you haven’t yet done.

for every time you look unsure of yourself,

like you’re waiting to become somebody –

anybody – else.

reread this poem and see:

you already are someone 

worth writing a thousand poems about.

this is an ode for the girls in seventh grade.