I’ve met too many men who loved my surface but feared my depth. I’m a crazy, chaotic maelstrom of laughter and warmth, happiness and nostalgia. I’m a hurricane of feelings and words, twisted and entwined in one sweep of existence. I’ve accepted my soul’s truth and complexity and I won’t apologize for it.
For a while now, I have always thought of getting old as some horrific monster threatening to strangle the life out of me. Although people around me don’t really say it, I’ve felt this incredible pressure to fit into the same social construct that generations of women before me have traditionally fit into with ease: that of a wife and a mother. Every year, I give myself a self-imposed deadline to accomplish this feat.
But over the years, I can honestly say that not only do I no longer give a single fuck about anyone’s social constructs, I’ve cared less and less about his and her towels, bridal gowns, or the expiration date of my ovaries.
What I do care about is loving well and being loved, waking up to a job that excites and fulfills me, having enough down time to do the things that are important to me, and surrounding myself with enough people, music, art, and poetry to feed my soul.
I’ve decided that there is no room in my life for abstract concepts, so I’ve learned to let them go.
You are whichever wolf you feed.
Because sadness was a glutton,
her love and her kindness,
her gratitude and her hope,
they’re all starving, all withered.
She has paid enough tribute to sadness.
So she holds up her hands to the wolf
that would be joy, if she let it, and
offered what’s left of her heart.
As sadness silently salivates,
she walks with head held high,
determined to break ground.
for she is walking with wolves.
For #bymewombchallenge hosted by @bymewomb
For #juneinspiration hosted by the lovely @alura_inspires and I
You point out the curve of your stomach
and the ripple of your thighs, as if
these are flaws you need to hide,
when you look in the mirror
and see not good enough, please
remember that I see strong
hands, stronger willpower,
resilient heart, easy laughter,
kind eyes, fast wit. You are
delicate and wild, insane and
unpredictable. Accept your
complexity and depth and don’t
apologize for it. You are every
inch of the reason I count myself
so damn lucky to be a woman.
It should be okay to tell someone how you are, when they ask. The weight of their hand over yours should not feel like a ton. It should be okay for you to not be strong all the time. You should not have to answer “fine”, when you’re not.
It’s ok not to be a rose. You may not be the pretty one or the crowd favorite, but that’s because you’re one of the wild ones. You blossom and grow in unexpected proportions. And when people finally notice you, they won’t recognize you or know your name, but damn they will feel you. They will fall in love with your uniqueness and finally see the beautiful ambiguity that you are. Continue reading “Identity”→