I am the fourth daughter to do it alone Independence and survival are in my DNA Only child to a single mother Only granddaughter amongst the cousins Only kid on my block I have lived in comfortable aloneness most of my life Do not believe I do not get lonely I know how to remedy loneliness Trusted family Tribe Are always a keystroke or "hello" away
I'd prefer to have a partner To help me raise and support my children But not at the cost of my independence My independence is foundational in my peace If I cannot retain my independent spirit I cannot sustain my sense of self I need a partner who walks alongside me Who understands that I need to run in my wildness Who does not try to domesticate me Into something less than myself
Aloneness is not absence or lack It is the space where I meet myself It is the door to my Narnia The place where unfettered dreams thrive Where words waltz in ballgowns and tails Where stories bloom from rich soil Where I sit in conversation with discomfort Where I sit in conversation with my gods It is the garden of my delights And it is as precious to me as air
How do I manage alone you ask I understand that I'm never really alone I'm as alone as I choose to be I'm helped as much as I choose to ask for it It is not as perfect or simple as these stanzas may imply But the essence of my truth is here Simplified Distilled into a comprehensible version Of my vast and complex reality A demonstration of shifting perspective Being alone carries so much oppressive connotation I choose to experience it as a necessary liberation Allowing me to navigate life by my own north star Inspiring me to never lose sight of myself again
I don’t know what I’m doing I don’t know how to adult Waking up everyday to Some new unknown challenge I’ve been told that God doesn’t Give you more than you can handle They don’t tell you God lays out A buffet of mild to spicy experiences I don’t think I’m a fan of buffets
I am no poet I am an observer A curious wallflower Peering into the places most do not dare The voyeur blending in and watching Keenly aware of the scene and vibe
I am no poet I am a witness A lyrical historian Peeling back the layers of what is obvious Making note and taking measure Commenting on the beauty and the bruise
I am no poet I am a documentarian A mental photographer Describing the visage of the soul Capturing the form of feeling Casting light on dreams
I am no poet I am an illustrator A linguistic artist Scratching lines on paper Forming images from curves of ink Building portraits from words
I am no poet I am a woman A single breathe in the wind Performing no obvious magic Sharing the same life experience Human and divine
Here is you bear All worn from love Or perhaps adorned with it Your partner in your slumbering adventures Defender against all that scares you It is your beacon in the darkest night It's felted heart doused in the Nostalgia of your mother's perfume Tangible reminder of lingering embraces That will greet you again in the light of morning Goodnight my little bears Hold each other tight
I am looking for the counterpoint to my melody A voice both hauntingly harmonic and intriguingly independent That when blended with mine creates a masterpiece
Love feels like Pandora's Box of contradicting experiences Love alights you upon a mountain top of elation And sequesters you in a dungeon of anxiety Love can feel like Elysian Fields And Dante's Inferno Love can make you feel like an accomplished genius And the village idiot Love gives your soul wings And your body two left feet Love makes poetry of your dreams And salad of your words Love inspires amazing highs And devastating lows Love is celebrated when it arrives And mourned when it departs Pleasure and pain separated by fate's coin toss A game of chance we cannot stop playing
I want to revisit the joy of cartwheels in summer grass Serenaded by the wing beats of bees and the chorus of hummingbirds and sparrows I want to drowse amongst dandelions while playing Warshak games with passing clouds in azure skies I want to hide beneath curtains of willow branches Making friends of the trees with whispered secrets
I want to run time backward To when summer days were never ending And daydreams frolicked in the warmth of long lazy unburdened afternoons I want to sit suspended in the amber of youthful memory Its glowing lens casting every scene in warm nostalgic hues Golden hour light cast upon fading Kodachrome images That compose dust mote-filled summer slideshows of my heart