In Meeting Myself

I discover raspberries blooming under my fingernails
and my hair turns to drops of honey when it falls onto my pillow
my skin sings sweetly when strummed, my teeth pull on pink

I love looking in the mirror with mascara and the fourth outfit I tried
I love seeing myself as a beautiful woman

By the time day rolls over my hair is tangled wheat
my skin itches and my lips are chapped & chewed
I avoid meeting my eye in the mirror, tiny bald eyes

My status as a woman is lessened because the girls on tv are laughing
and I’m laying here with a double chin and cheeto dust

When the sky is back to sunny side up
I make waffles
because my therapist said it will help

I call my mom but she doesn’t understand—
she has been a woman longer so it sticks to her better
she forgets how it feels to buy it from catalogs

I look for more women,
tangerines, eye cream, sunshine on pools
someone I can make myself at home in

The next day I call my doctor
she recommends meditation
unfathomable quiet

I am skeptic and have never seen still water
I cross my legs on my dollar store yoga mat
I place feathers on my intruding thoughts

In my reflection I smile at my unwashed hair
I remember a joke and I laugh without looking
honey, wheat and pink

I begin to bake my femininity daily
in my silent chest, soaking in sunlight, stealing seconds back
from the woman I am expected to want to be

I make myself a home
pour iced tea, squeeze lemons, crush ice
it’s the little things that show I care

I live there and lock the front door
I no longer crave company to tell me my curtains compliment the carpet
I know they do

These days I am more idea than woman
I close my eyes and see myself wrapped in gossamer and tulle
indistinguishable and exquisite — elegant and eternal

One thought on “In Meeting Myself

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