I am five foot seven, a buck fifteen drippin wet.
but there's more to me than bones.
I am a body covered in scars, some accidental, some not.
I am a victim, of violence, racism, and occasionally my own mind.
I am a victor of hockey games, tennis meets, and dean's list,
none of which matters much, to me, or you.
I am a learner, educator, ex-lover, and my mother's second favorite child.
I am a has-been runner, a will be graduate, and maybe a runner once more.
I am followed, harassed, asked, and pestered daily...by your "average american".
I am the little kid who never stayed awake late enough to see santa eat my homemade cookies.
I am significantly below the poverty line, I can limbo it without bending my knees or arching my back.
I am not who you think I am, nor what I want to be.
I am an imperfect perfectionist, who will always live life as a work of progress.
but there's more to me than bones.
I am a body covered in scars, some accidental, some not.
I am a victim, of violence, racism, and occasionally my own mind.
I am a victor of hockey games, tennis meets, and dean's list,
none of which matters much, to me, or you.
I am a learner, educator, ex-lover, and my mother's second favorite child.
I am a has-been runner, a will be graduate, and maybe a runner once more.
I am followed, harassed, asked, and pestered daily...by your "average american".
I am the little kid who never stayed awake late enough to see santa eat my homemade cookies.
I am significantly below the poverty line, I can limbo it without bending my knees or arching my back.
I am not who you think I am, nor what I want to be.
I am an imperfect perfectionist, who will always live life as a work of progress.
2 comments:
btw, this is a poem i wrote for class (teaching creative writing and poetry) this week.
You are awesome...
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