and a day,
and what a
day it was!
What a
year!
What a life!
I can’t help
but be pleased
every Valentine’s
Day
and bask in
my singularity.
Love is
often about gratitude,
and I’m so
grateful to have been born
into a
loving family,
into a
house where stories covered every wall,
like
rainbows through a prism
that was my
brothers and sister and parents.
And I’m
grateful for my friends,
even if it’s
hard to put into words how much I love them,
especially for
those who,
distressed by
the weight of the world,
seem to
have given up on words entirely;
given up
too young.
When we were in high school,
we had tea parties on my living room floor,
adorned in sun dresses,
and discussed the power of stories,
as if words could float like soap bubbles though the air,
shimmering and popping on our skin.
Words were power,
and we were the ones who made the words.
But now you’ve given up that power,
or given up on
that power.
Who made you so disillusioned
so young?
Who made you forget that you used to read
more books in a year
then I’ve read in a life time?
You used to write down quotes you loved;
I wonder where that notebook is now…
Today I am
twenty-eight years old and a day,
and I still
feel very young,
but also oddly
accomplished.
Singularly accomplished.
I’ve
written three books,
work two
jobs,
and study
one topic all day long.
In a roundabout
way,
I’m living
my dream.
And as I
sit here,
on the first
unbirthday of my twenty-eighth year,
holding my
book in my hands,
I feel
grateful for all the people I love,
even those
I can never tell.
I think
this story is about love;
I think all
good stories are,
and I hope
that in a roundabout way,
my words
can reach out to my friends
and give
them power
and show
them love.
♠♦♣♥♣♦♠
On a final, more clerical note, I've decided to officially change my blog update days to Wednesday (except for March 7th!!!). My classes this semester require posting on Monday and Tuesday (boo!!!) and I'll be picking up a Tuesday evening shift at the library in a few weeks (yay!!!), so posting on Wednesdays will be easier for me.
Your poem made me cry.
ReplyDeleteThis is actually the happier than the first draft.
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