Reality

If you were real,
I’d meet you in January.
From that moment,
we’d be inseparable.
I would tell everyone,
“I never expected it.”
And it would be true.

If you were real,
we’d be madly in love.
Without a doubt,
you would be cherished.
I would tell everyone,
“I’m so very lucky.”
And I would mean it.

Seen and Unseen

Strange how embarrassing it can be
wanting to be a part of something.
The heat of me is overwhelming,
cheeks like smoldering coals.
Do I want to be recognized-
or forgotten?
Anxiety tells me to remain hidden-
but a need to be seen bubbles through.
How can I express the emotions at war?
Heart palpitations seem to do the trick.
I feel out of place and alone-
I am afraid.
But why?
What lies behind this fear?
Who will I become when it swallows me?
I will be left with nothing.

Express

My age is the separation and
distinction between,
who I am-
who I should be.
They see clothes,
hairstyles, and makeup-
but never see me.
Numbers don’t quantify self expression.
Over 10,000 days
in my mind,
my skin-
I barely know the truth.
How could you?

Despite

Our worth comes from within. Not by the color of our hair, our eyes, or our skin.
The faults of our ancestors are not who we are. I am a torn soul of German and Polish descent, British and Native American … the choices of my ancestors should have ripped the idea of my existence into dissipating shreds of ether.
The people of my past are not me. But I can embrace my heritage and celebrate who it has created.
I will proudly stand up and say, despite adversity amongst peoples, despite hatred, war, greed, destruction, and death - I am here.

I choose love.
I choose peace.
I choose to give of myself to others.
I choose restoration and creation.
I choose life.

I am not a color.
I am not a place on a map.
I am not a religion.
I am not a style.
I am not a book or the words of another person.

Who I am and my worth?
The sum of -my- choices.