Day Five: Self-Love
a poem a day in the month of may
Poetry is about self-love. Poetry is a journey, an excavation.
Where does it take us?
You’ve already so far exceeded my expectations this month with your words, your wisdom, your kindness with one another. Thank you to everyone showing up in the comments section with your words and your care.
And thank you to everyone who is quietly reading, studying, holding, taking in the words and asking what they mean.
Thank you to everyone who chooses to write anything, whether you share it or not. Your journey inward is so sacred.
So, what does self-love have to say to us, to teach us?
Self-love is a conundrum, a difficult pill to swallow, an enigma it and of itself. We think it’s for us, and of course it is, to learn to cherish. But self-love is expansive, and once our own well is full, it is bound to overflow. Self-love is a promise that as we show up here we will suddenly show up everywhere. What makes a diamond so rare? Not just where or how its found, but the facets that create its magic. So we, too, are faceted, and the best way to know is to dig deep and wide. Self-love is the digging, the widening, the path that leads us to hope. Self-love is the excavation into a world of magic, shooting stars from our very souls.
Friends, I just want to remind you that there is still time to get a personalized, signed copy of Summer’s Magic for your bookshelf!
Main Point Books, a local bookshop near Philly, is partnering with me to make this happen. It’s so important to celebrate independent bookstores, and I love signing books, so I’m really excited about this!
Please place your order here by MAY 22nd to get your book!
I stand on my no's,
not by them;
they are stepping stones
on the way to
better yeses,
that lift more than myself.
Doing the dishes
(for tomorrow's Lisa)
Making the phone call
(I'm shaking through it)
Eating the food
and stretching arms wide
and telling myself,
"You are doing enough.
You are gonna be fine.
You can hold on and breathe.
You were only a kid."
Taking a bike ride
(just put on your shoes)
Looking for birds
(the buntings are back)
Resting in willow and cottonwood shadow,
and telling myself,
"You got this, my friend.
It's okay to cry.
Life always goes on.
You were only a kid."