A Poem About Being a Woman in America

On days when I feel consumed by self-loathing-

When my mummy-tummy is bulging over the edge of my yoga pants and I discover one holy and healthy grey hair expounding with seeming pride from my ever-thinning hairline

When I sit alone in an empty studio with no clients and no phone calls, and my phone isn’t buzzing or binging or beeping

When I look around my home and the muddy paw prints scattered across the wooden floors seem to taunt me, the dishes in the sink have reappeared and the garbage is starting to smell

When I look in the mirror and think to myself :

“Who could love you?” OR

“You’ll never amount to anything.” OR

“You could have done something great, but you missed your shot. You’re too old now. No one wants a mom. You have nothing left to offer. You better earn your keep. Be sexier. Be stronger. Be smarter and make more money and change the world. And raise your kids, fuck your husband, be of service, just create the feeling of home for your family, make memories for your kids, travel and pay off your house and have a savings account, and follow your dreams.”

And when it all becomes just a little too much — when I simply cannot stand to be myself, a woman, a mother in this world for another second…

You give me sunshine in the afternoon and a cat, purring on my lap. You give me the church choir on a Wednesday night and the perfect apple and my husband’s touch. You give me a long run and Neil Diamond and chocolate chips straight out of the bag and my comfy bed and morning snuggles from my kids, a phone call from a friend and I guess that’s what it takes.

When I forget who I am, you always remind me- that I am beloved. You remind me that I am more special than a flower or a songbird. You remind me that — all of that other shit, that’s not what we’re doing here. You remind me to let it go. Have fun. Make love. Eat food. Put your feet in the grass and try and have a good time while you’re here. So that’s what I’ll do, for today.

Writer, Musician, Activist.

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