Day #16 of 21 Days to Disciplined Writing
Happy 6am!
Who are you? Really. Who are you? Down the core, without makeup, ironed clothes, money in the bank. Who is Carol Anne?
Talk about who you are. Not the made up person, or who you aspire to be 10 years from now. I want to know about who you are - today.
Cheers to you.
Happy Writing.
Camari
Okay Camari…you gonna go and do this to us?! Geez…this is the one thing I hate to talk about.
It’s all about intention, you know? What I think of me can change on any day. It can change from morning to night. It can change from minute, to minute, sometimes, depending on what I am up against. When I was younger and hormonal, it could change at the time of the month or when I was pregnant…now that was another story all on its own.
So, I will stop stalling and get down to it. This time I am making it a list poem in the third person. It’s easier that way.
“She”
She is an introvert.
She covers her head, even when there are no storms.
The fogs at her hearth invites the light to seep
in.
Easy.
She is a laugh.
Smile.
Giggle.
Guffaw.
Snort.
Tear…
shudder.
She is the absurdity.
It is all absurd,
She thinks.
She is a tender.
Heart.
She aches for the children, the puppies, the kittens, the offspring.
She aches more for their mothers.
Split feet, sored calves, shredded garments,
like the Christ,
waiting for someone to touch their hems.
When will their scourge,
be vilified.
She is the badger.
Scorn her not.
Long nails poised and ready.
Her home is not for sale.
She is the wise one.
She sees all,
unless,
the call is muted.
Blindness,
as a rule,
ruins her makeup.
She opens her mouth and looks at the sky.
Her arms are open wide,
Her eyes open wide,
Her mind opens wide,
Her heart opens wide,
Yes,
Her heart
is
open
wide.
Namast'e y'all
