Becoming (poem)
They tell me it’s unbecoming,
this person I’m becoming
Oh, won’t I lock her in a chest of drawers?
Or boil her in a kettle;
melt ‘er to the bone,
leave her to stew in a broth
of piping hot tears and melancholy
Maybe then she’ll be
worthy of their space
Her mouth agape,
slanted curves don’t fit
the rigid lines expertly crafted
by those who know her so well,
better, in fact, (if you can believe)
then she knows herself.
Naturally, she could
shrink or expand accordingly,
but she won’t.
It’s not her style, you see.
If picture perfect is what you adore,
you’d better move on and
try your luck with
the mannequin next door.
Don’t tell me that now you’re sore?
Surely, she can buff some of the pain,
so you can see the summer rain,
and yes, pretty she will be, but sitting still
bores her terribly
Honey lips under the moonlight
Speaking out the truth
Too close for comfort;
permission was never needed on her end
Boisterous, blazing, brazen, yet
banged up, brittle and broken
No matter
Light will find her soul through the cracks
More!
And after all, she screams for more!
To see more, to be more!
To climb the highest mountains,
run miles of tangled verse,
immortalize many who deserve…
to live forever!
One pair of cosmic eyes outnumber
thousands of coal-tainted glares
In good faith, the glory shines
and everyone is free!
You are never lonely when you
have me!
So, sing and rejoice and
leave the past behind
Why worry about the future
when all we know is now?
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