Drawing Firm Lines

by willeya

consecutive nights with people always lands me staying up late with an identity crisis.  it’s like i have portioned myself into pieces to connect with the corresponding people in the room and i just need time to pull back in and settle into one.  i need to feel the lines between us once again, where i end and you begin. with extroverts i feel like an introvert; with introverts i feel like an extrovert.  but the truth is is that i’m both and and neither and there is not another combination of the two out there. but somehow when i’m with people too much i forget this and begin to bleed into you. and you. and you. i let things that aren’t me in and things out that are very much so.

so i wrote this silly little ditty called I AM…to help me darken in my fading lines of identity. to color within my own lines and to remember which shades of red and blue and green that i create.  this sort of sing song poem is a very easy response to prompts given here.  if you are having an identity crisis, i highly suggest it.

I AM an inspired, emotional, sensitive, fiery, independent, creative, “old” soul. i wonder how i will fit all my vision into a lifetime and how to put my right foot in front of my left when there are so many invitations to twirl barefoot in a circle.   i hear “pweashe mama”, “mama pweashe” and the water running over the dishes and the ding dong alarm telling me it’s time to call work and sarah telling me to “add to the beauty” and my husband’s feet swishing together. i see the morning sheets on fire with light and the sun already high in the sky, his eyes fixed on the screen ’till his mama gets up. i see the tears in her eyes as she scorns this father hunger deep in her gut.  i want to be a wounded healer, full of grace and understanding that goes all the way through and back out. I AM an inspired, emotional, sensitive, fiery, independent, creative, “old” soul.

i pretend that i am confident when i am insecure and insecure where i am confident.  but that’s only sometimes.  really, i don’t pretend very much.  i feel strongly, whatever it is. i touch my child’s face and hair, raw meat and rotting mushrooms, my husband’s lips and back, wet rags, computer keys, pages of books, and my hair when i am nervous.  i worry that i will always love protectively, with my own interests in mind.  i worry that i will be a wounded wounder.  i cry over the orphaned heart (mine included), adoption (human and divine), lost relationships and the final episode of gilmore girls.  I AM an inspired, emotional, sensitive, fiery, independent, creative, “old” soul.

i understand myself more than i used to.  i say my mind, whatever is on it, then woops, i’m sorry. what i really meant was…i dream up tattoos and children’s names, making homemade bread, sticking with books long enough to find the “very good” ones, living in the country, writing on my porch, having my husband and son’s heart “trust in me”, and becoming safe to those around me.  i try to stay vulnerable in relationships even when i’m scared as hell.  i’m learning to say “i love you” when i do, “you’re beautiful” when you are, “i need you” when it’s true.  i hope to be at home with myself in the company of one or many.  i hope to invite others to be at home with themselves.  i hope to have lots of tea in our own homes but with each other all the same. I AM an inspired, emotional, sensitive, fiery, independent, creative, “old” soul.

I AM less than i want to be and more than i realize.  i am here, right where I AM.

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