I am a parent, a writer, a gardener, a poet, an artist, a musician, a readaholic, etc.... I started really examining life after I was widowed ten years ago. I haven't managed to hit the bottom of my belly button yet with all my navel gazing. I wrote this when I started my search. I still don't have the answer.

Living with my armor off

Everything I do, say, or act out.
Slip poured into the mould with my name on it.
And futile furtive me,
scurrying to make sure it shows what I want the world to see.
Showing the things that I believe will buy me acceptance,
or safety in an uncertain world.
“Don’t hurt me, I’m useful.”
“Don’t abandon me, I will fill your needs.”
“ I will look the way I think you wish, please love me.”
Creating an image that is not me at all.

While these things are not bad in and of themselves,
the shape I have taken is wrong for me.
Based on all the “shoulds” I have been taught.
My true gifts are neglected and left out in the rain.

When the form finally breaks,
Will I stand there in shame at being revealed as I am?
Or will I take my freedom and spread my wings. . . . . .

I do not know.

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If you would like to read more of my poetry, see the Journal entries.