with love, self love.

I guess I didn’t grow up 

Believing I was not enough 

That I couldn’t do something 

Because of my label 

As a female. 

I guess I wasn’t brought up 

Thinking I was weaker 

Or more stupid 

Or less capable 

Or uglier 

Or insignificant 

In the eyes of anyone 

Until I came face to face with reality 

And saw the cruelty of strangers 

Who perhaps were never told 

They were important. 

I’m lucky I was raised 

To never think less of myself 

And when I look in the mirror 

I see an extraordinary ordinary 

Child-turned-woman 

Writing this small thing 

To let you know 

You are more than what they told you. 

all of the light. 

Dimmed and dull, 

The will to simply move 

Nearly extinguished. 

Once captivating, 

A bleak layer transforms 

An utterly vibrant being, 

A has-been. A used-up piece of flesh. 

How to carry on, she wonders, 

When the tide is drifting in 

And she knows the water will fill her lungs 

Dragging her out so far to sea 

That even the best of swimmers 

Would succumb to drowning. 

What happened? 

How did she get here? 

When did all of the light 

Disappear from her eyes

The place where one could once see the entire universe in her irises? 

As she wades out 

To where land meets water meets heaven 

Does she pull back 

Or does she dive under

In a last attempt to find what once was? 

porous & clean. 

I washed the day off of my face 

In the middle of the afternoon 

Watched the water carry away 

The layers of paint I’d used 

To color over 

The dark circles and blemished chin. 

And when I saw the person staring back 

Naked skin 

Deep pores 

For all of Earth’s judgment to fall into 

I saw the child, the woman, the aging lady 

Capsized by idealistic beauty 

Forgetting how undermined the spirit is

When the world only sees you 

Surface deep. 

sacred feminine.

I’m a tribe of all the women 

Who walked before me

In warrior paint and high heels

And petticoats 

Through rain and disrespect. 

I am my sisters, my mothers, my grandmothers 

Unrelated by blood

Bound by the sacred feminine. 

In this world we’ve built for future generations 

I am not paving the streets with gold 

But with sweat 

Tears 

Outcries 

In order to teach the ones to come 

That without fire there is no ash 

And without ash 

No rebirth

That without our voices 

We are doing a disservice 

To the ones who came before us.

little dove.

barefooted child
why do you shy away
from the mud
when it is the very place
you were made from?
why do you ignore
the whispers on the wind
if you say your soul
is open
to the chances they offer?
i am curious, little dove,
because your wings were made for flight
yet you’re hellbent on sitting tight.
what would move your spirit
to jump off these cliffs
and soar?