This is a poem written by me many years ago when I was having a personal meltdown. I had young children and a life that was falling apart. I hope this speaks to some of you.
The Posse
At this age I should know...where am I?
Where are all the parts of me, locked away so long ago?
What’s left?
The filtered me?
The watered down me?
The atrophied me?
The set aside me?
The me that cooperates with me?
The me that shields itself from fear, pain, sorrow?
The chameleon me?
The controlled or controlling me?
Where’s the tantrum me, the feisty me, the “I want” me?
Where’s the I can face fear, look it in the eye and conquer it, not just push it away, me?
The scared little girl-where is she?
The I’ll do it myself, my way, me?
The fuck you and the horse you rode in on, me?
The take this job and shove it, me?
The I am me, me.
The take it or leave it, me.
The stick it in your ear, me-or anywhere else you want to put it, me?
Where’s the horse I rode in on? Or was it a bike? A car fast and sleek?
Or running shoes; functional, simple?
Where’s the take me as I am or leave me as I am, me?
The take me or leave me, but don’t mold me, me?
The take me or leave me but don’t create me, punish me, form me,
reform me, extrude me, disguise me,
melt me, meld me, dispatch me, destroy me, dismiss me, me.
Take me or leave me as I am, who I am, where I am.
Love and nurture me, hold and cherish me, comfort and hear me.
Warm, but don’t burn me.
Make me yours, don’t make me into you.
Celebrate me, pick me up, cheer me up, cheer me on,
Give me room to find my own way.
Don’t clear the paths for me for those are your paths.
Let me cry, let me be, let me struggle, stumble, succeed, bruise and heal.
Where am I?
I am here, we are here, clearing overgrown paths; thorns, brambles and all.
We are forging, foraging, foresting, pushing, running, racing, falling, weeding, bleeding, rejoicing, singing, laughing, crying, taking, giving, feeling, winning, losing, peeking, jumping.
We have grown into quite a posse, quite a crowd.
Some of us are bigger than others, younger, older, stronger, weaker,
well-formed and sure, shy and meek.
We don’t all always get along, but we know we’re in it for the ride, the long haul.
The path may not be clear, the trip rough, bumpy.
There’s no road map for this journey, but we cheer each other on, pull the weak, push the strong, mend the broken, heal the sick, mourn the dead, celebrate each one of us for as a group we are formidable, unstoppable.
Who are we? We, are me.