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Amaranth Elk Dec 2013
I'm 17 and I still don't know how to
Dress nice.
I will be a woman soon.
I am going to have to know.

My whole life
I practically refused
To dress fancy;
In heels,
Lace,
Jewelry,
Silk,
Shalls,
Skirts,
Ruffles,
Anything.

Because I felt so uncomfortable.
So undeserving
So misplaced
I would feel stupid
I didn't feel good enough
I always
Felt like I was doing it wrong.
It made me feel uglier.

Then I just wear
Converse,
Flannels,
Fipped jeans,
Handmade bracelets, and
I feel more in my element.
But I don't feel accepted.
I feel judged.

My wardrobe isn't for a woman.
My wardrobe is still for a
Little girl
Who grew up in a neighborhood
With boys.
I'm still a little girl
Who wants to go play basketball.

I hope I can learn
To dress professionally
And be confident with
Myself.
Nat Lipstadt May 2014
613
~~~~


just google it plain,
see it in Wikipedia,
just that number

613

every number an association.
this one magical, mysterious,
and born to this,
my tradition.

613 commandments in the law

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/613_commandments

but today I come to speak of but one commandment.
first among a peculiar
613

not listed amidst the
thou shalls,
thou shall not,
of which,
many have I transgressed,
many have I blessed.

today,
******* the heels on my fast first
anniversary conclusional,
noticed that I had now
613
followers.

a young man,
from across the oceans,
from New Delhi,
honored me thus,
what a delight,
how easily these god and man-made
geographical boundaries crossed,
my spirits raised.


Follower,
how I detest that word.

I could no more lead than follow.

let us be neutral observers,
let us be recognized sharers,
let us be hand holders,
let us be mutual lovers,
let us be but friends.

root out this
servile attitudinal,
sacrilege word.

I do not celebrate this irony,
but oh yes, oh yes,
I do I understand this election
as a commandment,
a sacred obligation,
not of my asking,
but of my anointing.

The first and foremost poetic law.

write to
levitate and elevate
the human spirit

all the rest is naught.

— The End —