Poetry by Farah Lawal Harris

Posts tagged “reflection

Growth into Beauty


i feel like i am
JUST
growing in to my beauty.
before, my skin was
sunset:
confidence fading into cloudy horizon,
but bright morning has finally come
and when i smile,
i swear i can hear birds singing!
eyes bright
from all the yawning around me,
skin glowing.

love of self
was a hard seed that just needed nurturing,
extra time soaking in the water of my tears
until sprouting occurred.
now it is flourishing,
deeply rooted like a tree,
arms stretched, strong enough
to hold the weight of the little children
i‘ll be responsible for
feeding reminders of their worth.

it’s as if i gave birth,
belly no longer swollen with doubt,
removal of morning sickness
and mother
to past, present and future experiences.

and i am
STILL
growing into my beauty,
hoping to be
an adult one day.


My Belly


now that my midsection is no longer concave
and my abs have relaxed and settled into a belly,
i find my reflection less appealing.
i used to take pride in mirror glances
and secret naked dances,
but now i change the subject quickly
after catching a glimpse of my nude body
after showers or other clothe-less activity.


24


at 24, i have lived
so many lives.
i feel like
most people start one way and still have a sense of who they
are or at least have maintained
a certain essence over time
but in my 24 years
I feel like
i have been 24 different people.

my stages and phases have controlled my identity,
making me more defined by my actions, so people don’t see
who i am as a human being.
who am i really?
a combination of all of my personalities
that no one seems to fully understand or embrace.
all these people live in me waiting to come out,
but i suppress them, making myself generic
when really i am so much bigger,
so much fuller,
so much more alive.

the pressure inside
is stretching me in ways i don’t like
so now i’m thinking i just might
let all these I’s out to roam free.
and i’ve
reached a point where i
don’t care if
people don’t like
me…it’s time to be
genuine.
hang up the wrinkled shell of a person
i wanted others to think i was
and wear the real me–
stained, un-drycleaned
but
true.