Spring makes even the deadest hearts
feel some stirring, a longing for New,
a chance to shed winter pounds, old skin
and be some long-lost shade of willow.
I've spent the last six years wrapped gray
in shadows, swallowing comfortable padding,
dulled and dowdy, dressing myself down
I feel as ugly as I've made myself become.
I don't want "I love you's", or bewitchments,
or to summarize my life in dating rituals
of, "Tell me something about yourself,"
while being silently judged for flaws
or searched for traits of compatibility.
FAT is my defiance, as well as an anchor
to keep me from wanting too much,
dreaming too big, or making myself
But when those first few tiny flowers push
through the cold dirt, sometimes it feels
like they're breaking out of my own heart.
| I also feel this way when the season changes and gets warmer. There is something about the earth coming alive that makes someone want to also. I think it's really about coming to terms with yourself and what you want to be as a person and trying to be ok with yourself if not love yourself for your own mistakes and move forward. This is something I have struggled with. Good read||| Posted on 2017-05-04 00:00:00 | by concrete_rose | [ Reply to This ] || This successfully captures much of what I (not so successfully) attempt to say in my piece FrÃ¼hling. That there is this "thing" called hope that is also accompanied by caution, and some jaded sense of wishing you could still have it (hope). It's almost a taunt. And yet there is the tiniest sense that you still may grasp that which is so illusive you dare not wish for it any more. |
|| Posted on 2017-04-04 00:00:00 | by JanePlane | [ Reply to This ] |