am i the stereotype,
the picture plate stamped
into every dictionary,
cameoed and captioned:
girl with literary aspirations.
wears light, ruffled dresses,
charcoal grey stockings,
brown boots,
and carries with her a pen
and a writing tablet.
wears her long curly hair
in a braid hanging
down over one shoulder
and keeps her pale blue
eyes wide.
seldom showers,
but powders her nose,
and whens he drops her leather
satchel, nearly shatters the floor
with the weight of books
within. also, three wooden tops,
crumpled paper, swatches of lace,
and possibly a passport,
just for the glamour of it, or
because she never knows when
she'll have to go.
drinks tea and neglects the
ink stains on her fingers
and the hem of her dress.
red lips, but otherwise pale
with scattered freckles.
flyaway hair betrays that
she has been caught in the rain
and doesn't own an umbrella.
wrapped in her grandmother's cardigan
and drafts a letter or poem,
stirring honey into her tea,
library book number written on her hand,
smudged across her cheek.
i feel like i could be plucked from
a crowd as a magician pulls cards out
of my ear and reads:
girl with literary aspirations.
