Like, if me then you
For C, from No, Thank You
when I was little, like, four, I heard
you can be whatever you like
and I believed it. but, like, when I was
nine, I knew I wouldn’t be a broadway child star
that my sun would come out tomorrow shining on
the sliver-giving picnic table (my stage) in my Nonna’s backyard
when I was four I knew I didn’t want to be
my mother or my sister, that I loved Whitney Houston
and she said let the children lead the way, but I didn’t
want to be a leader, and I began my search for all the
beauty I was supposed to possess inside
you can be whatever you like
what I liked was singing and reading, and like, writing
what I liked was school and libraries and eating
but like, I knew when I was twelve I liked pretty and
popular and kissing and boys, but, like, they didn’t like me
yelling, hitting, cleaning and hating, I, like, didn’t like
but, like, that’s what everyone around me must have liked
when I was four, I didn’t like feeling entirely different
an alien, an outcast, a dropped star without a ladder
you can be whatever you like
so, like, I became a reader, a writer, a poet, a mother
like, if I can be me, then you can be you
four, nine, twelve, forty-seven: age is however long
it takes to climb back to the sky, to that lonely place
I’ve always dreamed of, and Whitney is there, like,
singing me into finding the strength in love, to
like, be me, so like, let’s say in graceful unison:
be love, and like, if you’re love, then I’m love and
every picnic table is broadway and every book
is a rung on the ladder, and every poem is for
everyone and everyone is a poet, be you

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Love this!!!
Charis
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