Poetry is pluck…

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them. ― Dennis Gabor

I stifle a grin as I sit in my skin and begin to ponder the wonder of friends
who let me be me and are free to be all they are
with their smiles and their scars and their ups and their downs
And their thens and their nows and their whys and their hows
because when they’re so free to share all this with me it speaks volumes and loudly that they wear it proudly their humanity
and I can wear mine
I’m free to be me

I sit and I grin as I think of my chin and my hips and my thighs and to my surprise I sigh as I think
It’s okay to be me
It gives me a giggle when I think of the wiggles and jiggles and ins and the outs and the curves and the doubts and I sigh as I wonder without applaud that when I walk with God and I do my best and leave Him with the rest I can fully attests
It’s okay to be me.
You see I don’t have to flaunt or be gaunt or be anything except created
I know its been debated but I wont let that hate in and I wont do that to me again and I wont let you or them because I’m made by him and I sit and I grin when I begin the know that its okay to be me.

So I sit in my skin and giggle and grin
at the thought of the fears and things and dreams I’ve kept hidden when all along unbidden there were friends to be had who wouldn’t be mad if I said the wrong word or thought the wrong think
I tell you it tickles me pink that I’m among friends who are so free that they would be themselves
and free me be me.

Andora Henson

April 2011


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