he kisses me when my nose is snotty,
and doesn’t mind if his face gets wet.
when he’s thirsty, he drinks my tears,
exchanges sugar for salt.
he grabs my love handles
and tickles my stomach,
reminds me that i am not fat,
i’m a woman but
you got me giggling like a little girl.
i can be hard but
i have softened,
silly putty in your hands.
how profound that i got so used to my own,
forgot the sensation of fingertips
meeting the identity maps of others.
i am honored.
i am giggling girl-woman-baby
no longer pursuing
hardened as i may try to be,
i can’t run away from the fact
that i am in fact,
i am strong without a doubt,
able to do whatever i set my mind to,
but inside i am soft as tissue,
sensitive like scarred skin,
delicate as seraphim and cherubim
and spend my energy cherishing
everyone around me.
sometimes the weather gets cloudy
and i forget my anatomy,
think i have pecs instead of breasts,
a mustache above my lips,
and a voice deep and rich as chocolate.
but i am not this basic idea or definition.
i am the kiss on your forehead when your confidence is missing.
i am the gentle touch when trouble gets to be too much
and the loving ear that will always be there.
i am the mirror on the wall that tells you all,
the pep in your step to take you from one success to the next.
i am a woman,
mother of creation,
removed from your rib so that your stomach is a little empty
so that when you get hungry, you’ll know that you need me.
i am the appetizer, main course, and dessert,
the one that you love but still tend to hurt,
the one who loves you but still likes to search
for herself outside of your help.
i am not the same as you.
we complement each other like orange and blue,
like honey and dew,
sweet and tickling.
oh, what a feeling
to stop pretending
and start claiming
hardened hearts do change.
they soften with the hope that
they can love again.