Lollipop Daisy

Don't censor the parts of me that don't jive with you
This is me, true in the flesh, deep in the spirit

Yes, I am pretty and acceptably packaged, a daisy in a lollipop field
Know this though, I have always been wild and free just below the surface, a thistle on rugged mountain

That will not change
For anyone

Don't pretend not to see that which you don't like, that which is my truth
Don't attempt to mold and chisel me into your dream

I am not your dream
I am not your fantasy

I am an incarnation
Of exactly who I was meant to be
Who I know to be
All the goddesses that reigned before me
Earth under their nails and sweat on their lips
Lightning in their eyes and thunder in their heart

I am all of them

You choose
Whether or not
you see
the lollipop daisy
or,
the real me

to my unborn

if you come, we will run through the fairy lit forest
our feet bare, of course!
we will wade in ponds and oceans
pick up frogs and shells
we will giggle at the elephant shaped cumulus clouds,
rolling over hills,
we will build your dreams under the brilliant palette of sunsets

we will make snow angels and talk until the stars appear
i will show you Orion

i will show you strength and love
i will show you everything i know
including mistakes i have made along my road

and there will be bumps
and you will fall
and i will help you up
and i will fall
and you will give me your little hand

and one day you will grow
and you will fly

if you come

Just now, I found two cards from years gone by, one from my best friend and the other from an ex-lover. 

I'm a sentimental woman. I keep cards and notes and letters, even sticky notes with thoughtful messages ... the ones with soul pieces im-printed on them. I like to imagine where that person was when they wrote those words, where I was when I first read them ... physically, mentally, emotionally. Was there music in the background, and, if so, what was it? Was it the chatter of strangers, birds chirping, ocean waves crashing onto the shore, cars rushing by in the late of the night, raindrops puttering on a window? Maybe they were sipping a cup of coffee and inhaling deeply the woodsy aroma. Were they inside or outside? Was there a sweet breeze rustling against their face and through their hair? What did their face look like? Contemplative? Sweet? Were they wearing PJs, a summer dress maybe? 

It's an almost lost art, this writing letters and cards and such. But, I love seeing the curves of their handwriting, the scratched out letters, the words inserted with arrows, misspellings, and underlined phrases. It's like taking a walk down an unknown street, noticing the architecture, landscaping, light fixtures, and cracks on the sidewalk ... the smell of linden trees and the crescendo-decrescendo of traffic. 

all the people, all the people ... in and out ...   

to all of you who ever loved me, thank you. It's a special thing to be loved. Thank you for opening your soul, inviting me in to sacred corners where your dreams reside, trusting me with your heart ... thank you 

found

I stood here
before i was me

the moonlight on my skin is too familiar
like distant echoes of a kaleidoscope dream

i stand here
now

loosen the white knuckled grip
peel off those layers
never knew they were there
translucent as they were

all these lifetimes
and i finally love you

without condition