Etcetera
August 21, 2015
I have started with myself
working from the ground up
where the blistered feet,
these weakened ankles you say,
won’t carry me.
And I know I keep saying
I can carry so much
I can hold so much.
It’s because you’ve never carried
anything so desperately needing
to be held onto.
And I know I’ll keep carrying
all the things I am holding
-burdens or otherwise-
even if
you say I can’t.
Because it’s this, or
I’ll just wear them
as perpetual bruises
or open wounds
or ragged scars
in this flesh you call
weak and unused.
Because it’s this, or
I’ll become them,
closer than a mask
and tighter than a cape,
more like a second skin of
all the otherness of myself
I have refused to possess.
I am beautiful and strong
not because I am not scarred
but because I choose to hold
the etcetera of my life
and carry it with me
until I know what I’ve been
carrying it for.
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