She Is Me
Published on June 10, 2011
There she is. There she stands all bad ass in my bedroom. The first vision I see each morning, the last watchful eyes I fall asleep under each night. She is my Queen, my Captain, my Warrior Mama! She is the catalyst to this journey I am on today.
She is me. The parts of myself that sometimes I run from. I hide–I find ways to wiggle around and disguise as other things.
She is me. The bold bad ass and confidant being. The leader. The truth.
She is me. Naked, vulnerable, bald of all intention. Swirling with focused vortexes of energy. She is red. On fire.
She is me, but not me. She is fading away and coming in focus day after day. She is aging and timeless.
She is me and she knows me. She watches silently as I burrow under blankets, cry out for answers, swoon under the desert moon.
She is me. Safety, destruction, chaos, disorder. Birds’ sweet sing-songs. Cotton before its picked. A soft, welcoming caress.
She is me, and not me.
She has been away too long,
to come back home.
She is me,
and not me.
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