I am me

Shaken and broken 

With the strength of a tree

And the body of a flower

Whose petals have fallen

In a “blow the man down”

…type of manner. 

My mind is an attic of cobweb strings 

From years of trying to be their perfect “thing”

Believing they may like me

And I would finally be enough!

If I molded so purposefully 

Into their “with restrictions” kind of love…

But you see…

And listen please 

I became a porcelain doll so elegant and clean

Yet never, no not once…

Were they proud of me!

My friends, it was still not enough

Because an acceptance without abundance 

Is no form of love 

And the lines through my face        glued and replaced 

…Oh from the many many nights the doll did break! 

…Was too ugly for many who shunned without grace 

And then…

My body like a stem

Bare, with no protection 

Felt the realist love 

As God touched me from His heavens 

In my mind, spun and confused 

In my heart, tender and bruised 

In my being, sewn from the tragedy of truth

He believes I am beautiful!

I even heard him whisper…

“Daughter, just be yourself”

Hi, I am a mess… 

I am no more and certainly no less

But I am free

From the convictions of all the “whomevers” they wanted me to be…

The doll has been shattered to the doom of the well

To release a timid me 

In all my unruly mystery

He shouted as I bowed,

“My daughter you are lovely and 

I am ever….

So proud!”