Composition
Jan 27, 2021
I am not a poet. However, I was in a group today that was given some prompts and asked to follow it through with pieces of what felt true for us. Here is what I wrote.
My heart is made up of strength and darkness, time and blood.
My hands contain power and identity, danger and promise.
My voice is a mix of peach cobbler and wine, soul and practice.
My memory is true and false, old and becoming.
The secret is loving the unlovable, especially if that means loving me.
I want to know that knowledge is not the point.
I need to own my own joy.
I wish I didn’t confuse my want for my need.
I know that I am only enough when I commit to living into more.
I am built of resilience.
I am made of wandering.
