{Poetry}: I Am

I am the manic pixie dream girl your mother always warned you about.
(I am the girl who lingers in the art galleries and doesn’t think before she speaks.)
I wonder if dreams really come true or if that’s just something written in fairy tales.
I hear the soft song of birds bickering in the treetops. I hear a man talking to his wife.
I see the fuschia-pink of spring blossoms dancing in a warm breeze. I see an unlit
lamppost.
I want to feel authentic. To understand myself and my dreams. I want to lessen
the burdens of others. I want to make people smile. To make them laugh. To lighten their
load.
I am the manic pixie dream girl your mother always warned you about.
I might linger in the art galleries, and sometimes,
I have to stick my foot in my mouth because the words rush out & aren’t intentional.

I pretend I am a successful author. I pretend I am still a little girl. I pretend there is still
time to change all the mistakes I’ve made. I pretend I am happy sometimes.
(But life sees through the pretending and insists I be genuine. Begs me to be
real.)
I feel lost. I feel content. I feel lonely. I feel bored. I feel happy when the music’s good.
(I feel a million things all at once, and yet, nothing all the same.)
I touch the hearts of tens of thousands of people. I touch my violin and create melodies.
I touch my skin and write words upon it like it is made of paper and my fingertip–
the pen.
I cry about war. I cry about people suffering. I cry when I think of the shape of the world
we leave behind for future generations. I cry when I remember I am a ghost, and one
of my friends is six feet under. I cry when I think of all the people I’ll never know.
(I cry, I cry, I cry. I could bathe in my tears, but then you make a joke, and I do smile.)
I am the manic pixie dream girl your mother always warned you about.
I linger in moments of beauty, hesitate in art galleries, and say words I don’t mean to say.

I understand happiness is illusive at times, I understand sadness can be permanent,
I understand the world doesn’t have to be black or white (sometimes, it can be gray).
I understand to be successful, one has to work for it. I understand my stories are strange.
I understand my memories are even stranger. I understand to appreciate the little things.
(Like feathers given as gifts or the smell of pancake batter on his shirt. The way I can’t
forget, no matter how hard I try.)

I say life is for the living, so live. I say don’t hold grudges, unless they’re well-deserved.
I say empathize, don’t sympathize. I say forgive and forget as often as you can.
I say life is short and beautiful, enjoy the journey. I say sadness can overtake any of us.
I say I’m sorry (much too often sometimes; too few other times, but I still say it).

I’m sorry the world can be ugly. I’m sorry no one warned me how emotional it could
make me. I’m sorry no one told me how hard you have to fight for the little victories.
I’m sorry life is rotten sometimes. I’m sorry sometimes I forget the beautiful things
but remember the awful things. (But there are beautiful things I remember.
You telling me how you would always remind me of who we are. You kissing me every day
before you leave for work. The way you always chase after me when I run away, crying.)
I am the manic pixie dream girl your mother warned you about.
(I linger in art galleries and don’t think before I speak.)

I dream the world could be better. I dream I could make it better.
I dream I can dance and sing on key. I dream I can play the violin.
I dream I am smart, I am witty, I am funny.
I dream I am a daughter my mother can be proud to call her own.
I dream I can show her my poetry book some day without a wrinkle
of shame.
I dream I am enough for myself some day so I don’t worry what she thinks.
I try to better myself. I try to educate myself. I try to stand up for myself.
I try to believe in myself. I try to love everyone, even the unlovable.
I try to forgive everyone, even the unforgivable.

I hope I am enough. I hope I am lovable. I hope I am forgivable.
I hope I am good enough, smart enough, funny enough, loyal enough, beautiful enough.
I hope I am enough. I hope I can change people for the better.
I hope I am influential. I hope I am beautiful, inside and out.
I hope I become a mother some day.
I hope I am a good wife some day.
I hope I am what everyone deserves.
I hope I finally forgive myself for my past mistakes and realize they were just that–mistakes.

I am the manic pixie dream girl your mother warned you about.
(I am the girl who lingers in art galleries and doesn’t think before she speaks.)

-L.G.

 

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