The Poetry Marathon

Your chest isn’t too small

your butt isn’t too flat

your glasses aren’t too thick

your feet aren’t too big

those insults are coming from others that don’t even know themselves

they want you to be who they are comfortable with

someone who minimizes their own self

who shrinks to become whatever is needed in that moment

in 5 years none of those people will matter

they go home measuring themselves according to you

they go home wishing they had your body

your feet

your eyes

your intelligence

while you go home figuring out how to shrink

how to become anyone that won’t need to be teased

if it’s not your size

its your friends skin color

your virginity

Your hair ends needing to be trimmed

its your clothes brand

your dirty tennis shoes

Dear sweet girl, you are not meant to be enough for anyone else

you sweet sweet girl..

you are more than enough for yourself

so just be you

learn to be comfortable in your skin

with your flaws

and love yourself through not knowing better

love yourself through others judgements

love yourself through it all

I didn’t want to just share

not this time

so I made a cup of coffee and listened

she told me it was rather late for coffee

as the  moon beamed through the fog, casting a misty light in the dark

she hushed herself while our conversation traveled through grassy fields

she told me to give her a minute so she could take in the smell of the air

I told her, “foggy air does smell different”

she talked about generational curses

and how damned we are

“this world causes a lot of pain to a lot of people” she says

“I feel my inner life is on a dock waiting to go adrift,

it’s ready for its turn…” I say…

i suppress parts of myself

to make others comfortable

to feel included

to be accepted

who am I anyway?

outside of what I withhold within

Or suppress outwardly

I wish I felt comfortable facing the world.

I just don’t know anymore….

We all need to believe in something

whether it’s true or not

whether you remember or not

She didn’t know what to believe anymore

was it a lie or the truth

was it real or an overthought

Either way it’s what she believed about herself

Wagons

dirt roads

trails rarely traveled

were traveled by us

Memories of those times

stick to my ribs

satisfying my taste buds

I’ve been in the the eye of the storm

and its satisfying in what it provides….

Fertile passions

helped me remember

my strength when I decided to leap

yet my new living space did not stimulate my senses

instead I was confined by prejudices of neighbors

judging my family size

the adult to child ratio

pairing it with my skin

Judging my story

I never lived this close to them before

cracking blue ice of naivety

a space the sun never quite rose in

thinking it was safe for me now in this world

with every movement

noise calls were made about me

we couldn’t walk

couldn’t move

couldn’t play

All of us afraid to breathe

like we were all an animal sighting

Of something once extinct

Observed as a subhuman until I retreated to another space

where my toes were allowed to spread.

I entertained a demon

that appeared by my bedside

lurking over me

I let it run its nails down my spine

My fascination remained

something I believe I was born with

My stories of Love questioned its existence

months later he returned

with his bagged promises

only to tear them open

shredding “us” for certain

If you love them as they are

leave them alone

Don’t pull them from the earth

When you do, they die

Don’t place them in vases

let them exist in soil

let them breathe in life

let them live in light

not in water

Fill your gardens

not your countertops

I hear your store bought flowers screaming

give me back what’s mine

demanding life to be returned to their lungs

until their last breath

then you replace them with more…

the wind reminds me there is more

than self

more than what self consumes life with

the wind brushes against my skin fairly

undiscriminating,

freely,

softly,

lovingly

touching the parts of my flesh clothes don’t cover

My eyes fail while attempting to catch a glimpse

of something from this earth that freely

dresses me in ways fleshy bodies have not

wind proves to me, that I have feasted in darkness.

my 5 year old daughter was birthed with wonder in her eyes

so bright and full

she offers me a million questions a day

Overwhelming my need for silence

i am not a patient mother

though my 5 year old is patient with me

her eyes are encouraging

never concluding

just asking

for what she needs

She is teaching me to look beyond the “mommy frustration”

to breathe

to answer

to hug

to love

to pay attention

instead of rushing to get back to

something

back to work

back to reading

back to the song

back to not paying attention

she is teaching me to envision my future with more patience and time with life’s questions

with her questions

she is my wonder….

she is magic…