i didn't know it then
but youth was quicksilver in time-
i still talk to my young self
who is self-conscious, rebellious
& anxious, as if carrying the world atlas
on empty pockets
in the mirror
my forehead is now furrowed like my dad
my hands are wrinkled like my mom
i am aging into their likeness
though i am also drawing my own portrait
the young girl is still here
curious & resilient with the tides of
work & technology
every day is a day of rising to bloom,
not being a thunderstorm or lightning
in a bottle, but to be
someone who is (still) finding her voice
between her ambitous knuckles & mushy heart,
striving to merge her excel left brain with her artsy right side
with gratitude, she has
made a house to her own liking
in the wall, she writes a note:
your self-worth is not in your inbox
you are where the light rests
against the winter darkness, it is where your children
find you, serene as seagrass
neatly folding laundry at the end of the day
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Resolving to Resolve, hosted by Punam.
I have used 2 themes/advice for my post: Your self-worth is not in your inbox.
At the end of each day fold your clothes and put them away, no matter how tired you are.
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