Canvas, Unfinished


I’ve felt awkward.

Even at thirty-five,
I still feel unpolished.

I don’t belong in my skin.
Someone calls me beautiful,
on a regular basis.
My son still sees me,
Through innocent eyes.

An unfinished canvas.

To me though,
My mind,
My soul,
My body,
feels ungraceful.

There’s still work to do.

I’m stumbling,
My Life,
In awkwardness.


Once upon a time

I thought the world,

Of everything.

Then a hand came down,

And smacked me.

It broke my legs,

So I went tumbling down.

I forgot my knees,

were there to save me.

It bruised my heart

It cut me dry.

The blood ran cold,

My lungs struggled for breath.

But my brain,

It thought

No not like this,

It hit my heart with an electric current.

It told my lungs you stupid girl.

It poured tears into my eyes,

As I began to feel.

This is not the end,

This story said.

It’s only the beginning.

I wrote this on November 27, 2016