I am born into womanhood
at a time when the culture of love is synonymous with that of passion;
defined by the quiet crinkle of foil wrappers
and sweaty skin.

I am born into womanhood
at a time when beauty is defined by others,
when how you look is who you are;
nothing more and certainly always less.

I am born into womanhood
at a time when women are so powerful
that they are constantly trying to knock their sisters down;
self betterment and discovery are discarded for the sake
of being on top.

But I was born into a marriage
that values favourite colours
and buys flowers just because;
I love you is said as an appreciation,
not an obligation.

I was born into a family
that compliments my achievements and my interests,
that tells me I will do beautiful things;
I will be beautiful in this world because I am,
not because I could be.

I was born into friendships
that survive on the strength of diversity
and without the integrity of each other,
the shoulders to lean on,
may as well be leaves in the wind.

I am born into womanhood
a different kind of woman.

I trekked up that slushy hill, double time, because I was wasting minutes being anywhere you weren't. I don't think I've ever opened a door faster than in that moment before smashing my body into yours and breathing you in in one messy, rushed kiss. In French, instead if saying I miss you they say tu me manque, which means you are missing from me. This concept was explained to me, finally, as I was wrapped up in you and one of your many colognes. Lips and tongues and teeth and door frames. I could not feel anything because I was feeling everything. My conciousness extended no further than the tip of my nose and at every point my skin touched yours. It's been a while since I have understood myself in such a simple sense, but it was clear you knew me all along. I could tell from the way you traced me without looking and tickled my collarbone with kisses.
And finally,
your mouth moved from me and into
Hello

She was daisy chains in July
Wilted by August
And nearly nonexistent when the leaves fell
But she bounced back every spring
Even though she fell often
In those season changing winds
She was soft and small
And had her heart right there
In the center
More golden than the sun
She was the definition of delicate
And knew the meaning of sincerity
She was everything she could have been
And somehow always growing
She was not one, but many
A symbol of simplicity
And I'd wear her as a crown
If only
She'd let me

and everything that's less is more
when we're wrapped up in a way that has always made more
sense than all the dollars you think you need to spend on me
but I just want you to see that when breathing is heavy and I can feel your heartbeat
better than my own is when I know that it'll be okay and even if we aren't meant for more than a little piece
of forever now has never been better
and I just hope you like me in
my socks

I have never been good at hiding my anything
under more than a thin layer of trying
to hold back the parts of me not everyone should see
I am not afraid of who I am or how I feel and I don't think they should be either
but I'm sorry if my sandpaper tongue and teary eyes are too much
I'm sorry for the mistakes I have made and the ones I will surely make
because I'm not very good at knowing everything or censoring my sensitivity
I'd like to think that I was good to him and I'll be good to this one too
I'd like to think I didn't make a mess I couldn't clean up because I'm a little bit OCD
And I don't like admitting that I'm afraid if things out of my control
I don't believe in perfection but I like the bright days and I don't want to be the kind of person
that breaks hearts and makes happiness hard
because I like whole, happy hearts
and I still love him
in the hardest way
the way that makes me want his life to not be a part of mine
because I would just like
some peace of mind

on that dark snowy street
tongue tied
with yours
you had
my heart beating
too fast to tell me
how to feel
anything but
my frozen feet
your soft fingertips
and that big bowl
of salad
i let you buy me

Today, for the first time, I looked at my mother. Really looked at her. I've been watching her for years. I know her habits, the way her face slackens when she's mad. I watch the way she is in the world and I know who she is, what she feels like, how she smells; but until today, I couldn't have told you what she looks like. She is beautiful. Breathtaking. It's Christmas and the house is warm, glowing, smells like food. We had company and she was flitting about, kitchen to couch, apron wrapped around her fancy dress. No stockings or shoes. She was waving her arms, twiddling her fingers around her wineglass, rubbing her feet together, always in motion. Her face slid so easily into a smile, creases outlining her happiness. Strong features: a big nose, defined chin, high cheekbones, easily visible because of her short hair. My mother is not a small woman, nor is she big, but she stands tall with broad shoulders, mine now the same, and her presence is colossal. I could see the 20 some year old that my father fell madly in love with. Gorgeous. Strong. But at the same time, so soft. Every part of her nurtures. I sat in awe, stunned that I had not noticed that she was once so much more than Mom. Still is.