i shouldn't write this to you
not when you've found so much beautiful
in your life
in your walk
look at you woman
love it like the making of a masterpiece
you have flourished as only you can
love those that love you most
love those unable to love themselves
check beneath the bed for monsters
clean them out with the old panties
buy new ones that fit like skin
flaunt the ones in your favorite mirror
the one with the crack that shows every stretchmark
yea, that one
smile from ear to ear
laugh and then squeeze your stomach
push inward with the breath that you've never
thought would taste so young
i am officially a grown woman. though you couldn't have told me otherwise after i moved into my first place @ 18 years old. or when i let a man move in because we were "in love". or after i picked up my bags and set off for the big apple.
but sitting here. watching our new addition to the family "Cataline Cumulous" the kitten, only weeks old, meow like a maniac as amari tends to her every need and he sleeps, loudly. i know this may be the part that the books and the elders once talked about.
the beauty in the small things. the joy in car ride down the FDR listening to soft rock stations when HOT 97 only plays "gettingsomehead". or the gorgeous laughter that ripples my flesh when we relive london, amsterdam, poland, germany, austin, baltimore, california, miami: riots, poetry parties, beach walks, train hoppin', boat tossin', feel good moments.
i am blessed. and this day just projects those blessings even more. i have met incredible people. i have been inspired to live big and brilliant and in colors only my heart can paint. no names have been attached to these hues and i pride myself in this.
someone told me that this age - would be the definitive point of my life. i will feel absolutely beautiful and aged to perfection. i wonder if my expectations will lower? will i douse their existence in the harsh glow of potential - or let them be who they are. probably the latter. changing people is a hard occupation - and a full time gig, at that. but i can see the addiction to the nurturing process. and i stretch for the ripe sun touching my fingertips against the fatness of possibility.
i have been molded by several hands. but settled into my own role years ago. this full of fat composure i keep attached to my hips remind me of all that i've lived through. the addiction my mother lives, the prison that kept my father safe from himself, the grandparents that raised me when their own were incapable, the siblings that irked me and loved me with the same intensity, the men who taught me to love beyond them, the daughter that loves me unconditionally, the man that teaches me to love in spite of, the friends that always suprise me with their candor and ears and smiles and kind words, the persons that resemble enemies on a clear sunny day - for they have no idea how to be better to themselves, still i am tired of being upset. no judgements. just observation (CB). no regrets only lessons. no presumptions no expectations. i will wait for the light to spew rays of truth like lavender water. like fire.
like i got this shyt on lock. cause i do.
bklyn birthday girl -- stand up