Change Begins with the Individual

Shane Koyczan is a Canadian Spoken Work Poet.  I came across him on the TED awards for being chosen to be awarded the TED prize which is given to a person who boldly and creatively inspires and actively seeks global change.  Shane Koyczan speaks out about school bullying.

I've been in this funk for a little while now.  And I've wanted to write about it, but I haven't known how to write about.  Watching Shane Koyczan speak and perform his poem "To This Day" and the way he effortlessly mingled it directly into his speech so that you didn't know where his speech ended and his poem began... was truly impactful to me.  His poem spoke to me.  It's like he looked into my mind and wrote down what he saw, and that ability to connect your words to people you've never met and most likely never will meet, is truly a profound gift.

I was bullied as a pre-teen.  My bullying started before my pre-teen years.  I started being bullied as young as 6 years old, and the offender was my first grade teacher who was Baptist and felt it necessary to take out her hate of Mormonism on an innocent child, therefore setting the tone for how other students treated me.  By the time I was in the 5th grade, I was already very cautious on how I interacted with others.  I would imagine that a lot of my fellow classmates would have seen me differently (not cautious), but that's because every day I made an effort... a conscious effort to socialize with others.  And it was hard.  By the end of my 5th grade year, I had consistent bullies.  They were kids older than me and we weren't in the same school, but we lived in the same community, and we rode the same bus.  Riding the bus was a war zone for me.  Every day, if they felt like I looked at them wrong, I would be surrounded and ridiculed ruthlessly.  And they always felt like I looked at them wrong because as they told me, I "looked wrong".  They surrounded me and they called me fat and a heifer (I was neither of these things, I was a healthy 10 year old who was taller for her age than other 10 year olds).  They pulled me hair and shoved me between them, there were 4 of them on a consistent basis, and on occasion  a couple more would join in on the "fun".  They made up a rhyme about me.  It was something to the effect of being so ugly that they would try to remove my mask only to find out that it was my face.  It was at the part of "removing my mask" that they would pull my hair and touch my face roughly... not hitting, not scratching, but completely invading my personal space and grabbing my chin forcefully.  When they wouldn't be able to remove my mask then they would howl out with laughter and tell me that my favorite holiday must be Halloween because then I could walk freely out in the open in my hideousness and not look out of place and not scare others with how ugly I was.  I would get off the bus and I would take my time getting home (1 block away) and I would cry and then wait until the traces of my tears were gone and then I would go home.  The bus driver never stepped in.  By the time I was 13, I was angry and inwardly aggressive.  I became Gothic and stuck out even worse.  My best friend was considered a "problem kid" and had his own reputation.  But, in our friendship, we were safe with each other.  He was the most compassionate person I've ever known.  His bullying never stopped, really.  And when he was 17 years old, he committed suicide because... I don't know why, but I know part of it was that he was never treated "normally" by his peers.  There were other components to his choice to die, but being ostracized by his peers for being different was a very hard thing for him.  I know this, because he would open up to me about it, and I to him.  My bullying never stopped until the end of my Junior year when my bullies graduated high school.  No matter how "normal" I tried to make myself, these emotional terrorists never let up.  And it's impacted me to this day.

This poem hits home.  The feelings of worthlessness and being undeserving because you aren't "normal", or you stick out for some reason that other's don't... they follow you for the rest of your life.  And while the bullies go through their life bullying other's to get what they want, or maybe they grow up and stop bullying, and settle down to have a family and work at their job that pays the bills... they don't think a second about second guessing themselves, because no one ever second guessed them.  But to the one who was bullied, self doubt becomes a way of life.  That doesn't mean self doubt has to be your life, because there is life after bullying, it's something that you have to fight for though.  Becoming an adult is difficult enough already, add into the mix learning to trust yourself and love yourself and respect yourself after a major portion of your life being told you aren't good enough or "enough", period... makes it that much more difficult.

The point of this post is not to be depressing.  I'm choosing to speak out about my experiences being bullied because bullying is not a matter of kids "just being kids", it goes so far beyond that.  The same rationalization could be applied to war and dictators, "Oh, the war on terrorism is just politicians being politicians... politicians can be mean."  Bullying is an emotional war and it takes place every day in every school across the world.  And teachers stand by and watch.  Administrators don't dare get involved because there is so much fear involved in correcting the behavior of a child whom is not your own.  And other children standing by watching don't dare say anything because if they do, then they are next.  Where is the protection?  Kids who are bullied are the most loving and generous of their classmates.  I'm not saying that in honor of myself.  I'm saying that in honor of the people I know who have been bullied.  Their hearts are kind and compassionate and delicate and that should be protected, not betrayed.

If we, as adults, expect change to happen in schools then we need to set the example to those who look to us as an example.  And we need to be actively involved in pursuing a positive change where it's needed.  If you witness something that is "wrong" in your book, you need to react against it, not in an antagonistic way, but you need to respond in a way that will promote and encourage something better.  We need to let people know when we appreciate them, especially teenagers, because they have it freaking rough.  There is so much out there about what is "wrong" with teenagers and what they can do to be "better" or "worthy" of attention, and it's all coming from the media and from authoritative figures in their lives that only see them a mere portion of their lives.  Some teenagers have rough home lives.  They need encouragement.  They need to know that they are "good" and that they are important and respected and appreciated.  The social structure that a child and teenager are submitted to on a daily basis is a huge component on their behavioral "makeup" as an adult.  If we want a "better" tomorrow then we need to start nurturing those that will be leaders of tomorrow.  It sounds hokey in a "glass-perpetually-half-full" kind of way, but whatever you want to call it, it's idealistic, but it is still possible.  Change begins with the individual and leads to those impacted by the individual.  Change is always possible.

Nimah Ismail Nawwab

The following poems have been on my mind a lot lately.  They are both by a woman named Nimah Ismail Nawwab.

"Lost and Found?"

We lost the core
worship diligently
with minute, particular movements
wrapping touted diction
extolling the mundane without spirit
we lost the core

The Beloved's loved
the Great One's Mercy
the spiritual bond

are out of the equation
we lost the core

Who savors the fruit
and leaves the heart, core,

Reviving the essence
we embrace peace
and are devotees of Higher Love.


"The Arena"

Come,
come face to face
with yourself
rekindle the flame of truth

Look past the frayed, the marred
the strain of imposed dictated musts
let the chambers, walls and doors
implode into a new arena
where the face to face
brings forth a rebirth
and the Path Maker supersedes all.

It's Been a While

I feel bad that I haven't written for a while.  Things have been really busy for me.  A new semester started and I am in a Creative Non-fiction writing class, an Intermediate Poetry writing class, and an Intermediate Algebra class.  The combination of these classes means that I barely have time to sleep.  Also, I am tutoring 5th graders in reading at a local elementary school.  I'm trying to get other areas of my life in order as well, and so I've just had a lot of different things competing for my time.  What I've realized is that I need to include making time for writing on this blog, because this blog is an outlet for me.  It's a way for me to connect with people I care about and who care about open adoption.  My lack of writing doesn't mean that I haven't been thinking a lot about what I would write about.  And as usual, what I want to write about is hard to explain, but I will definitely try my hardest to say it.

My poetry class and my creative non-fiction class have really pushed my limits as far as writing and the construct behind writing.  I've always felt like I was an "okay" writer of poetry, but this class has shown me that... there is a lot I didn't know.  Ironically enough, I was more worried about going in to my creative non-fiction class because I didn't know what it would involve (this genre of writing is hard to define, therefore my hesitancy), but it's proven to be the class I am doing best in.  As for math... I have nothing pleasant to say about it.

The semester is officially half-way over.  And for the 8 weeks that have passed, I have been living in the land of memory because I've had to write a personal essay that was just critiqued in front of my entire class 2 days ago.  Not all of it has been pleasant.  For the next 7 weeks, I will continue residing in the land of memory, because I have another entire-class critique the week before finals.

I've been dealing with some other things on top of the stress of this semester.  Something I haven't written about that I am going to mention right now is that back in April of this year I decided to separate ways with my family.  I'm not going to go into the details of this decision on here, but I feel like it is necessary to let you all know because you all have been an important part in my growth and healing after placement, and honesty is important.

Simply put, this year has been hard.  The decision I made in April, I made because I felt like I was disappearing.  I can't describe that feeling.  I was caught up in so many people's extreme emotions and I was trying to make it all better for everyone involved, and what it was doing to me was erasing me.  It was at this time that I started considering that maybe I had a severe mental health disease because I didn't trust anyone, especially myself.  So, I did something for myself.  I shut myself off from all the confusion and I have been working through the confusion ever since.

I've been sorting through the confusion of my life and I'm better for it.  For as hard as this year has been for me, I'm grateful for it.  When you have people from every angle whispering insecurity in you and you lose your voice amidst all of the anger, that's when you begin to disappear.  I cut off all the noise and I'm better for it.  I'm more at peace with myself.  I'm more secure in myself.  I'm happier.  I think that's hard for certain people to hear because they don't want to believe it, but it's true.  I have a focused idea of where I want my life to go now and it's not competing with the whispers of everyone else.  Sometimes I still hear echoes of the whispers because of the actions of others' and how they are still affecting my life in an attempt to gain control, but I know how to ignore them now, and I'm better off for it.  Those people know who they are and I know how reading this post may make them feel, but that's not my problem anymore; it belongs with them.

I've been afraid to blog because everything I do right now is being analyzed by people who I really don't want to have contact with anymore.  But, this is my blog.  And these are my feelings.  And I will not stop expressing them.

On that note, I'd like to share a poem I came across that I've been thinking about over the course of this semester so far.  It is by Wislawa Szymborska who just recently passed away.  She is a woman of Polish descent who survived the Holocaust.  She has a beautiful way of expressing vulnerability and strength at the same time and I appreciate her poetry for that reason.  Enjoy.  The meaning is left up to you, that's the beauty of poetry (it is something for everyone); I already know what it means to me.

Under One Small Star

My apologies to change for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.
Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don't rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage, 
your gaze always fixed on the same point in space, 
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don't pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don't take offense that I've only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can't be each woman and each man.
I know I won't be justified as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
the labor heavily so that they may seem light.

-Wislawa Szymborska

"Strive to be Happy"

Something is brewing in me that I've wanted to write about the last few weeks, but I need to let it steep for a little longer so I know how to express it.  Let me start off by saying that my heart is so full right now.  I am in such a great place right now, emotionally speaking.  That's not to say that things aren't difficult right now, just I'm at a place where I've never been before; a place where I am learning how to separate myself in a good way from the stress.  I still experience the stress, but it doesn't become me.  


I have this friend named Chris.  I've known him since I was in middle-school.  He's a chill dude.  He's the one who got me curious about looking into Buddhism, which I've only dabbled in the research really.  Today, out of the blue- I haven't talked to him for a long while- Chris sent me an e-mail on my Facebook.  He said, "One of my favorite poems... thought I'd share."  The poem that he sent me is below.  


As I read the poem, my eyes began to water and my heart began to pound in the way when you are inspired.  And it's made me think about where I am right now... this place that I'm in now where I am starting to recognize myself, this girl who is no longer a girl-child, but a woman, and someone I've been wanting to meet for a while now.  In this woman there are glimpses of me and who I used to be and there are glimpses of the woman I want to be and am becoming... and it's awesome.  It's amazing how you can find yourself when you are no longer hiding from everyone.  It's amazing how you become who you are naturally to become when you set the boundaries in your life that need to be set so that you have a chance to live and live in a way that is your creation and not just what makes everyone around you feel comfortable. That life- living for other's- it's not a life, it creates insanity.  


For a long time I've been in a haze... since before Baby Boy was conceived... I was floundering and trying to find that balance between who I felt/feel I was/am and the person that other people wanted me to be.  I can't even describe to you the kind of crazy that living that way built up in me.  I can't begin to describe to you the kind of distrust that living that way nurtured in me.  I can't begin to explain to you how lost I've been... and now, the haze is clearing... and I don't feel crazy anymore and that's... joyous.  It's scary when you feel like you are slowly going insane, only you have to hide it.  And now, I'm seeing life more clearly and it's beautiful.  And I'm calm for the first time in so many years... I'm talking more than a decade here in terms of the years I'm talking about.  


The poem below expresses this calm that I'm talking about.  The poem below expresses the quiet truth that is building in me and replacing the distrust.  It describes the soft pride and honor that I feel is replacing the crazy that scared me for so long.  The poem below describes the connection with the earth that I feel... the sense of grounding I feel now, where in it's place I was once a gypsy just floating from place to place, both emotionally and physically, all the while looking for my heart and that place where I hoped to feel whole.  I am "a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars" and I "have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to [me], no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should."  The power in that acceptance is unreal and yet so completely real and honest in it's truth.  And that truth leads to a delicately secure trust that I can let things happen as they will and make my choices based upon my truth and in that peace, all the sorrow and let-downs of the world remain quieter than they have in years; they are no longer the focus, rather the background noise to the aspirations of my soul which will not lead me astray because they are good and honest and in that is joy.  What I've learned?  Our hearts are not found in other places, they are found within our self acceptance.  That's not to say you won't come across people and places that you feel so completely soul-compatible with because our nature as human beings is to connect and love and allow ourselves to be loved.  What I'm saying and what I finally understand is that... you and I won't find that until we find ourselves and our love and acceptance for ourselves.  I finally get it.  Better yet, for the first time in my life, accomplishing that feels totally doable.  Enjoy the poem.  I did.



Desiderata
by Max Ehrmann


Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Truth is, Mistakes are Necessary

I've been on this reading bender lately.  And I'm loving it because I am reading things that I want to read and that are still completely out of my realm of "typical reading".  Right now I am reading a couple of books by Mark Nepo.  I'm only 4 poems into his book of poetry titled Surviving Has Made Me Crazy.  I've never read anything like what he has to offer, never in my life have I read such pure truth learned only at the hands of difficulty.  If you guys want to know more about him, you should read up on him.

I want to share one of his poems with you.  It is titled "The Mistake", and it goes:

The wind had been knocked out of me
and doubled over, I looked like I was asking
for something.  It was then that someone
passing by offered me something precious,
which I managed to hold briefly before
dropping.  And when I dropped it,
it fell into someone else's hands
and she was so grateful.
She called me kind and generous.
She couldn't thank me enough.
But it was only a mistake.
I felt compelled to admit
that I had merely dropped
something precious.  At this,
she put what I had dropped down
and took my face and said, "Don't
you see?  Even dropping what is precious
is a gift."  It made me cry and while
she rocked me, what was precious
rolled toward a bird who fluttered
over it.  It finally landed at the feet
of a small child who hugged what was
given, what was dropped, what was a
mistake, what was let go in order to hold
someone lost.  The little one just hugged it
and turned to her mother in awe, shouting,
"Look what I found!  Look what I found!"

This poem is beautiful to me and I cried when I read it.  There are different reasons why I appreciate this poem.  From a writing perspective, I appreciate its ambiguity, there is no clear understanding of what the precious thing is and so the core of the poem, the something dropped could be so many different things to so many different people, and for that it is more resounding in its universal impact.  Secondly, I love the enjambments, which is how each line ends which really effects the breath of thought and how it is spoken and delivered.  But mostly, I love the message and what I get from it.  It will be different for you, I imagine, but for me it was quite powerful.  To me, the meaning of this poem conveys and idea that there is more to trial and loss and sorrow, even if none of that was sought out.  And why would any of that be sought out?  It wouldn't.  I don't know of anyone who thinks to themseleves, "Self, I could really go for a life-altering downer right now, what do you say to that?!"  Self, go for it and make sure it hurts you big time and will be felt for a long time.  Yeah, people typically aren't like that.  But stuff happens.

Things happen in life that you never see coming and it leaves you... frightened and broken, and that's kind of the point.  You've heard me say it before, and I'll continue saying it, hurt/trials/sorrow grows us for powerful change that we are meant to experience.  Oftentimes, it feels as though we are lucky just to survive these moments of life-altering impact.  I've felt like that for the longest time, myself, that I'm lucky to have survived the soul-trauma and hurt that comes with placing a child for adoption.  Outside of my life-altering placement of my first child for adoption, I've lived through some other pretty heart-wrenching experiences and the culmination of all of them together has left me quite frightened and unsure of moving forward.

This poem made me think of all of these difficult moments/experiences differently.  I wonder about this "thing" that he was given and then mistakenly dropped, only to want it back, but not regaining it again, only to still be better off in a way that isn't easily expressed for having lost the thing he let go of, and that brought so much joy to the life of another, a child.  I get the feeling that the voice of this poem still misses, very much, the thing he accidentally let go of.  And it wasn't easy for the voice of this poem to let this thing go, but it was never fully his to begin with, and in letting it go he realized that in letting go is as much of a gift as the experience was in the first place.  And what he let go of isn't just forgotten, but it finds it's place in the heart of another and the memory of the previous "owner".  I think it's the combination of these understandings that the poem ends on a joyful note which gives you the sense as a reader that the voice of this poem is alright with what happened and that this "mistake" of letting go of what he initially had no intention of letting go was not a mistake, but something that just happened... something that he had no control over, but that just happened.  I'm sorry if I am rambling.  I get real nerdy about analyzing poems... it's why I'm an English major, truth be told.

There's another story in this poem I feel.  And I believe that the other story is in the fact that sometimes it takes losing what we value most to understand the true beauty of what we had.  And that sounds like a total bummer, but I think that this other narrative is followed by the suggestion that what was lost can be regained with the purity of new eyes or new understanding, as the child who claimed the precious gift that was lost by the person who let it drop from their grasp accidentally.  Once this person lost what they treasured, they realized what they missed and regained it with new appreciated understanding.  The "new" being represented by the child.

I could honestly keep going, but I'll stop.  I just want to finish this post by saying that I no longer feel that that things we lose sight of in life and that escape our true understanding and leave us with uncertainty and fear about what's to come... I no longer believe that these moments are meant simply to be survived.  But rather that they are gifts as well.  The "mistakes" and regrets of life are not a curse to the one feeling them, but they are a gift to teach us what we value as most sacred.  And while we experience the difficulty of this lesson, the experience is a gift in itself because, never again, will we live each moment of our life in an experience with such obvious clarity and true understanding.  And it's for that reason that we should be grateful for our hardships because they make what's important completely clear.  And really, what we feel in the pressure of the difficulty... it really isn't too far away from the peace.  I would go as far as to say that they are one in the same: confusion and understanding, fear and peace, hurt/anger and love, sorrow and joy, despair and hope.  It is in the experience of one that we find and better understand the other.  And there is balance in all of it, even when balance isn't readily found.

-Original Poem-

[Untitled]

If I could see through your fears,
There is nothing,
my dear,
That would keep me from reaching through
to your core to hold and protect
your heart.
I'm scared too,
But I trust you.
We are doors-
closed to hurt-
and locked so securely
we don't even open for security.
Our windows let in the light,
And light's warmth soothes
our foundations where
Shadowed glimpses of our memories
and passions for life
Dance.  Our memories dance
amongst the sunbeams of light, and
Hope waits and grows and is closed
Within us.
There is no key for these locks.
This was not meant to be easy, but nothing
Worthy of life ever is.
I'm scared too,
But I trust you.
With me, I trust you.
Hope told me that you miss me too-
I have opened the door to you-
and now is the
Time
for you.
Walk through.

[Untitled]

[Untitled]

Some things are best said in a language

Native to breath;

They connect better with the heart.

Your language is different than mine.

You say what you mean-

Te he dolido tanto,

Se esto.

He hecho dano nosotros,

Lo siento.

I say what I feel-

Tu mi has dolido tambien-

Dolemos.

I don’t know how to talk about things anymore.

My truth was lost in the context of feeling and

Explaining only made things worse

Because they explained away your hurt,

I’m sorry.

Estoy triste que estamos separados.

When we fight, language becomes broken,

But I know

Tu mi necesitas como le necesito.

Se esto.

I know that feelings are important,

And relevance is in our words,

And words are truth;

Truth is reality-

Yo se creo en nosotros todavia.

Puedo aprender a perdonarle.

Lo siento.

Please forgive me.  With you,

I’d start again,

From the beginning,

I’d start again,

With you.

Nuestras almas so companeras eternas.

To you, hope- I

Hope the meaning of my heart reaches

You.

Veulva a mi.

Copyright: Other Mother

"Some Poems Don't Rhyme"

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.”― Gilda Radner

I love this quote by Gilda Radner. It reminds me of the quote by Woody Allen, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans." I think that's what makes change so hard to digest is because it involves letting go of what it is you wanted and worked towards for so long. As a child you are told to dream big and never lose sight of what it is you want in life. And then you get older and you realize that you actually have control over whether or not the dreams you had as a child are ones you want to pursue, or if you want to pursue something else.

Whatever it is you decide to go after, you pursue it with a passion that would be exhausting, but for how badly you want the end goal. And then something completely not in your control gets added in to it all. A situation might happen that changes everything, or worst of all... someone else has their own agency to make decisions on how they want their life to go. For a while, you both might have been on the same path, and then one day... you don't even recognize each other anymore because you don't even want the same things anymore. And everything changes and you realize that you can't control them and you don't have to let them control you. So, the only thing left to do is adapt.

You might try to adapt to their idea and their goal, but the only problem with that is that you lose yourself. Adapting is not about redeclaring a new identity. Adapting is about making what's changed, work... for you. And that's life. I have this picture in my head of how beautifully everything can fall in to place if people... a person would only see it my way... but this person feels the same way. So, what do we do? I don't know. The only thing that we can do is come to terms with the fact that our poem no longer rhymes and that can be uncomfortable and difficult for the reader. And though this part of the story still doesn't feel like the end for me, it's hard to see where it could possibly go from here. And I deeply love the characters in this story, but they are both too hard headed to see an agreement in the end, wherever the end is. So, all that is left to be done is to accept the change, embrace it, and hope that it makes you a better person for living it. You may not know where it's going to lead you, but it will lead you somewhere, and you still have some control over how willingly you are to let it take you where you're meant to go. Who knows what could possibly come from it? And that's what is scary.

Rubix Cube Human

The following is a poem I found while looking through some old papers. It's a poem I wrote while I was dating Baby Daddy and it's extremely revealing into who I was at that time. A lot has changed since then and I'm glad for the change. I'm not proud of the woman I used to be, but I'm proud of the woman I'm becoming.

Chameleon

The many sides of me
Aren't so easy to see, but
I can be whatever
You need. A chameleon
Posing as a civilian- I'm
The one
And the million.
Heavenly irreverent,
I draw you in because
I'm your sin.
I'm charmingly disarming,
But it's not a game and
You are not my toy,
Boy. I do
not deceive-
So, believe me-
All the different parts of me are
My reality.
Fold and re-mold me,
You can even tear me
As long as you repair me.
I would bleed just to be
What it is you'd like.

Copyright: Other Mother