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Mimi
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email: Tommilaflare@gmail.com
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Rebirth in Motion
When I look in the mirror,
I see a woman who has walked,
run,
flown,
and fallen.
A woman who has failed as much as she’s triumphed.
Cried as much as she’s laughed.
Cursed as much as she’s prayed.
The woman staring back at me,
she’s loyal to no one,
and nothing.
except the act of rebirth.
She’s a warrior.
A goddess.
A dreamer.
A survivor.
I see a woman who’s begged to be loved and walked away as lovers dropped to their knees, begging her to stay.
She’s picked up all that she could carry and run away,
more times than she can count.
Arms tight against her ribs,
clutching pieces of her life.
Leaving a trail behind her,
tumbling in her wake.
Too desperate for escape
to stop and retrieve them.
It’s okay.
She’ll make new memories.
Buy new things.
She’s learned how to let go.
Become an expert
At moving on with empty hands
And quiet hope.
After all,
starting over is the oldest friend she knows.
She knows beginnings
like the back of her hand.
They’ve taken long walks in the park, laughed at corny jokes,
and wept.
Sinking down.
Knees to chest,
onto cold porcelain
Fallen teardrops
Mingling with the shower stream
This woman,
She’s fearless.
On the outside, at least.
Inside,
she trembles.
Unsure what each day will bring.
Never knowing
when the next signal to run
will come.
Like the toll of a bell,
Demanding,
she abandon this journey,
And start again.
You see,
for as long as she can remember,
life has been a coyote
and she,
a rabbit.
Always on edge.
Always alert.
Always aware of danger
lurking in the shadows,
patiently waiting,
for the moment to strike.
The woman before me knows:
peace isn’t given.
It’s snatched from the heavens
after waging a war
that can only be fought within the soul.
She’s trudged through the shadows
to open the blinds,
using sunlight as her weapon
to burn through the darkness,
taking residence deep inside.
The woman you see here today
She’s been up,
down,
and all around.
and she’s here to say:
The running ends today.
I’m here to stay.
Inheritance
It’s been 1,760 days since we’ve spoken.
But I hear your voice in my head often.
Your words used to cut through me
like razor blades, Sharp and sudden.
Now, they glide like a butter knife.
Slow and cruel,
Still Desperate to do damage.
It’s been 42,240 hours
since we’ve been in the same room.
But your face greets me in mirrors.
Lurks in the corners of my dreams,
That look of disappointment
you wear so well
bores deep into my soul.
It’s been 4 years, 9 months and 25 days
since I chose to love myself
more than I feared losing you
So why does your ghost still follow me?
I used to set myself on fire
As an act of rebellion
Sending smoke signals
That screamed,
I don't need your approval
Truth is,
I was waiting for you
To notice the smoke.
To stamp out the fire.
To show you cared.
I used to fear your shadow.
Feared waking up to your voice
Harmonizing with mine.
Feared feeling your bitterness
Stitched into my skin
But now I see,
I’m not you.
Yes,
pieces of you reside within me.
It’s your hips I swing, when I strut
Your laughter spills from my mouth
But I am not you.
Every mirror holds your reflection.
Your habits sprout inside me
Like seeds I never meant to water.
But I’ve learned,
I don’t have to let them grow
I don’t have to feed
What tries to consume me
They say we become our parents as we age
Maybe I’ve inherited your shape,
But not your shadow.
Maybe I carry your voice,
But I’ve taught it new words.
You still haunt the halls of my body
But I’ve stopped letting you rearrange the furniture
Perhaps I’ll always flinch at my reflection
But I’ll take these pieces you left behind
And build something else.
I live here now
And I’m learning to call it home.
Hometown Glory
I’m from cotton fields and oil mills.
I’m from fireworks echoing through canyon walls.
I’m from loud music, spades, dominos, go sit at the kid’s table.
Barefoot summers on hot pavement.
Koolaid pickles and dime candies from the candy lady.
I’m from beauty salon, liquor store, check cashing,
church, pawn shop, liquor store, liquor store, church.
I’m from absent father, narcissistic mother,
The eldest daughter who raised herself.
I’m from Newport 100s, Bud Ice and c-sections.
Late night shifts. week-long sleepovers at granny’s.
Housekeys swinging from lanyards.
I’m from Sunday service, Wednesday service, choir practice, praise dance.
I’m from, do it because I said so.
I’m from A honor rolls and after-school debate clubs.
From, “my mom forgot me again, could your mom take me home?”
I’m from, “you’ll never be better than me”
I’m from dingy locker rooms and $20 lap dances.
I’m from corner store cat calls and men who never saw me.
I’m from black eyes and broken bones.
A black sheep who birthed an even blacker sheep.
I’m from college textbooks and student org meetings.
From city bus rides, stolen formula, DV shelters.
I’m from court testimonies and underestimation.
Daddy issues, mommy issues, trust issues.
From praying women and men soaked in gin.
I’m from, you were never supposed to make it.