Vulnerability: I Love

Image: Me before my 9th grade social (2001)

Vulnerability is my vulnerability,
I pick and choose
the pieces of me to share
I shuffle my deck,
Lay my cards out
Then scuttle back,
Back in,
Under cover
To safety,
Concerned others might see.

Or, I did;

Until
Sometime this past November,
When a New Birthday gift
Enhanced my shell,
Made it stronger
And made it removable,
I need not bare all,
But I can bare.
And I can be so damn proud,
And openly admire
this body,
this mind,
this heart,
this soul,
With all the bumped,
Bruised
Smoothed,
Filled,
Filed,
Etched,
Modeled,
Molded aspects
Of this vessel;
Of this person I am.

This person
She is Beautiful;
Authentic,
Wild,
Ever growing,
Ever learning,
Ever being;
For she is living.

And I love her;
She is Me.

Acceptance & Adaptation

Cocooned,
For fear I may offend
By being,
Pulled self back so far it is inverted,
Into an observer,
Without the privilege of experiencing,
Of getting close,
Of risking rejection,
Out of fear of that very thing,
Will self to dare,
To push boundaries,
Past minimization of difference,
To grasp the splendor of true diversity,
Reaching, teaching modes of
Acceptance and adaptation in
and of my self.

Wholeness in Bloom

In bits and pieces,
I am finding myself
in whole,
I was not lost,
I was, I am
in process,
Now peaking out new,
Vibrant crocus
pushing up through cold snow,
Whole me is a flower
in the process of budding
through full bloom,
I will guard this treasure,
And not let it’s appearance be shamed,
My self in bloom is beauty
in rare, raw form
fragile,
and yet miraculous in strength
bending independently toward the light,
knowingly drinking the mana of life waters,
feeding for knowledge,
preparing for
the continual, eternal
blossoming toward wholeness

All of Our America II

Wake up to the realization
That things are often
Not as they seem,
White picket fences
Are redlined
With a much darker history
Dark like burnt cork
Dark like the black night of masked midnight rides,
But also dark, with stars guiding
Like an underground railroad run,
Our history is our history,
We cannot cherry pick the plot,
But we can from our ends figure out how to continue the story

America was always a complex experiment,
A wild unruly flower
Largely grown from blood and tears,
And blood and tears still water her today,
It is how they are shed that
Makes the difference

Mapping a family tree
Going back centuries
Becomes a test of how much truth
One wishes to open up,
It’s a Pandora’s box of past
That leaves us staring face to face at times
With the sins of the mother and father,
Wondering how amends can be made for past wrong,
When guilt is a well that keeps dredging deeper
But our past is our past
And sometimes the good is not,
Even cannot be recorded,
And our past is still ours to handle,
We are living knee deep in it,
still collecting and paying for the past our own eyes may have never seen,
It was not our place to be there,
But rather to be here,
Being actors, witness to the present,
And reflectors on the past
Watchmen for our now,
To ensure better choices,
The best choices may be made to impact the future,

It is all connected,
And it is our responsibility,
As Americans, as world citizens, as humans,
As sentient beings to ensure we are guided wisely,
By not guilt, or raw anger,
But by complex thought
On what to do with the lessons and emotions evoked from the American past,
in this present,

It is all of our past,
It always has been,
Though history has affected all unequally,
It is our past to take on,
Our past as a present to grapple with,
In order to become closer together as a single entity,
As siblings,
Who can handle reality,
Who can allocate responsibility,
Who can be the e pluribus unum aspired to,
We are a people of all Nations,
It is remembering that which is the challenge,
And truly realizing that
This is
all of our America