I am me, none other,
not my mother’s weaknesses
nor the sins of my father
but the qualities of my mother,
strength of my grandmother
sometimes tenacious,
impatience blessed
my fortitude
and sometimes
with some solitude;
when o’er the top
kinsfolk distressed.
I am perfect
in my imperfection
I’m an ordinary human being,
doing the best I can
with utmost dedication.
I love to help, care
listen with compassion
giving, feeds me double rations
so much more do I receive.
I am female
woman, all the time
insisting I be true
to my heart’s desires,
my need for intimacy
my thirst for sexuality
if society permitted
I would not have to store
said desires in a drawer
No indeed!
they’d call me an exciting player
rather than promiscuous stayer
and…
I’m also a lady the rest of the time;
I am not English
nor am I French
I am Canadian,
then I’m Québécoise
I am a product of my ancestors
woven of the best of tweeds
in French, Irish, Welsh, English
like most Canadian tapestries.
I’m independent
but not unfriendly
embrace my solitude
which toys two camps
of loneliness and isolation
ambivalence ascends
with feelings of worthlessness,
aloneness then transcends.
I love my mother,
and all my children,
and my children’s children too,
my sister moreover-
cousins most times,
my friends… true siblings
soul mates, by design.
I love with abandon
sheer lust and passion,
not always guarded…
but, ill prepared,
which sometimes breaks
the heart in two,
Lord Tennyson
seemed to know this pain
as quoted saying:
‘Tis better to have loved and lost,
than never to have loved at all.’
I want to wake next to a lover
but not lose me along the way
so much explored of me, discovered…
I learn to love me more each day.
Originally Published: © Cheryl-Lynn R.’ 2014/05/14
Oh my! How life has changed since I wrote this…but I have not…I wonder what verse I could add to 2021…something to think about…
