**(Please visit home page of blog to view video presentation of this poem.)**
It’s probably the scariest assignment once I wake up and think about it.
Days away from 17, months away from teenagehood, months away from completing the first year of life.
I said before that there are, in fact, past versions of myself that I do not want my sons or my baby girl to be like. That I will always be a safe place for them and keep it real. I also don’t hide that it took decades for me to choose to heal.
Black sheep, an outsider, inside her (me) was a very hurt child.
I used this platform to display growth and healing, never anticipating the depths of what I would discover about myself.
There is no book for this.
I have had my fair share of lovers, some great in which I was not ready for, and others but another notch on my belt of bad experiences.
If anything, as the winter approaches, as life comes full circle and I have solidified even more reason to walk my own path, I now acknowledge the power of words.
Words that I have used to inspire, words that I have used to hurt others like explosive darts.
Protecting MY heart with a harmful ego struggle, years 13 to 18 for me were not stable but even in my identity struggles, deep down that empathic heart was still warm and vibrant.
I must refrain from dispensing too much of my energy. There are many historical references whose works showed promise from isolation. That has been the most difficult part when you use the term “social butterfly” to cover up the truth of “I define my identity and self worth based on those I am around.”
But when I found myself after a detox from the world, I see and I state:
I am ready to do it right, my sons, my baby girl.