I’ve always been
one for whimsy:
many memories I hold
of my toes brushing stones
as the wind took my hand
to help me walk along ledges
lined with flower pots and dead petals,
my fingers swirling and exploring the cool air
of higher ground.
Everything to me
was a dance and an adventure:
every tree branch and every patch of grass,
every rooftop and wall:
they were my castles and ballroom floors
and I would strive to discover every crevice
– I was so thirsty to figure
where I fall in this world
relative to these realms
and my curiosity always numbed
any sense of danger.
So so many treetops and brushes fill my past
and I remember how I anticipated what feats I would fathom
ten years ahead,
(how strong and smart they would make me).
Now those and more
have come and gone
and still I am navigating my
though no longer through places
High above or a glance below
my head arches and cranes to take in
their eyes, my stance
before I’m twirled into
the dance of status,
my toes curl beneath me
as I follow ebbs and flows
and chart the unknown territory of
foreign skin and wisps of hair
– the scent of flower-beds past
replaced with musk and leather –
and the weight of this New World
presses down upon me.
Unafraid, again I am numbed
though now with the aid of cigarettes
and bottles of wine
– curioser, will I grow or shrink? –
and I swing between splendor and stupor.
Where do I fit in?
Brave, I press on
and try to gain my landing
whilst standing on my side
reveling in the relationship
We have in relation to one another
rather than from within.
Just another exploit,
a step towards mastering my mind-set;
one more wall to walk along
with learned choreography
to try to triumph above.
But lately, I’ve realized
with these excavations for my identity,
I don’t like the motions I’m taking
nor what comes out on the other side:
what it is I’m becoming
because there’s no substance
and I’m afraid to say “No”.
And I find that, despite being a different
time and place,
I’m the same little girl
creating my own adventures
to cultivate my pride and
So now I must step back
and face the fact that
there is no guardian by my side
to witness my whimsy
– no audience to appreciate my strides –
no chaperone to take my hand
and I’m stumbling.
At the end of the day, I am alone
and these ventures and victories
have all just been
in my imagination.