Things I Love About You, YCA Poetry Challenge, Day 4

Things I love about you

“You dance like a black woman,” she said.

And although there is a part of me that wants to bite back with a what the fuck is that supposed to mean, I bite my own tongue. Because if I am being honest, it is one of the greatest compliments.

Maybe the words are wrong, but I think I know what she is saying.

I dance with reckless abandon. I dance in a space where I feel the music in my soul and let it move me. I do not care about anyone else. I acknowledge other people on the dance floor, but they do not break my rhythm. It does not matter if they validate my movement. My movement is my own. I am whole and I am Goddess in this space. And when I have a partner, I feel through the air for them, their movements, their rhythms. I match them sometimes. And others, I set the pace. When I have a partner who feels me, we move as one. Changing leads, changing steps, changing rhythm seamlessly. A good dance partner makes a good lover because the energy movement is the same. Seamlessly taking the lead, seamlessly handing it back again. Reaching not for validation in my own movement. I know I am secure. But, rather, reaching for someone to join my already perfect dance. I want to say to myself that what I feel when I dance I can feel everywhere else in my life; I just have to make that choice.

I love you.

“I want to be like you when I grow up,” she said.

I looked at this beautiful woman who was carrying life within her ever-growing belly. Took in what she had said. She wants to be like me when she grows up. It’s like those moments when I am reading tarot with a Celtic Cross layout and I get to the card of how others see you. This beautiful woman, mother, sees ME as someone to look up to. What does she see in me that I cannot see in myself when I look in the mirror? She wants to be like me when she grows up and I want to say to myself that there must be something in her eyes I can channel. There must be an enduring beauty and strength that is clear to her that I need to lift the fog of self-doubt to see.

I love you.

“You are among the most thoughtful people I have ever met and I don’t expect that should ever change,” he said.

Behind those words was an enduring love between two people that in my head looks like the love I see in this artist’s work. Behind those words was an appreciation, an unconditional flavor to a love that did not result in forever, but rather in finding out who we each were. I am an incredibly thoughtful person and, of course, that will never change. And for the people who have shared with me the gifts of who they really are, there will always be enduring love. You let me see your light. You let me see your darkness. Thank you for trusting me to hold the space you needed. Thank you for holding the space for me. I do say to myself that in this is a large chunk of my own magic. If I can hold that space for other people, of course I can hold it for myself. Bring myself unconditional love. Wrap myself in my own arms and then, when I open them, share my own magic with the world.

I love you.

“You’re a journalist, you make a mental note of everything everyone tells you,” he said.

This one was an accusation. A reason to not trust me. Yet. And it’s ok. Because I can choose to receive it with anger (and I did) or I can choose to see it for what it really is (I do). This is a part of the whole of who I am. I am a storyteller and a secret keeper. These are not mutually exclusive. I can be both. I will never, I hope, tell anyone’s story who does not give me permission to share it. In my heart are beautiful and tragic secrets. In my heart are beautiful and tragic stories. In my heart are beautiful and tragic people who brought me their pain and joy, who bared their souls. And I will hold within the beingness of who I am all that until the day I die. The accusation is correct. I will not forget. But the spirit of the statement is wrong. Stories are sacred. I hold sacred stories. I want to say to myself thank you. You are a beautiful vessel that holds the beauty of everyone you have ever met.

I love you.

“I also exist in a space of gratitude. You’ve given me so much healing,” he said.

Perhaps this is the largest piece of the whole of who I am. Heal the world. One person at a time. You know that scene in Eat, Pray, Love where Richard says to Liz that if she could just allow herself to open up, the whole world would rush in? Love would rush in.

Yes. That. Some part of me know it.

I want to say to myself that time is now. Let it go. Let it all go. Let love rush in. Let god rush in.

I love you.

The challenge for day 4 took me two days to complete. The instruction: write a love poem for yourself when times get tough. I used the prompt in class with my high schoolers. They struggled a bit, but markedly less than I. In the end, in order to find our who I was, I had to think back to the words I heard about myself that moved me. Now I have to learn to speak them to myself.

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