Pod G taught me vulnerable

A good friend and I facilitate a visual art workshop at a juvenile corrections facility in Highland Park. We had to take a break this summer because of her internship in DC. I miss them a lot tonight. The boys taught me vulnerable. In honor of them, I am posting the first poem that I read with them. We all shared very vulnerable stories that evening and this was mine. 

Yes, go ahead, blame her.

Blame it on her temper.

Always the first to fight;

Never quiet.

Her blood boils so hot, she wouldn’t hear your words

Over the screaming stream

That pours from her ears.

Blame her.

Blame it on her eyes.

Always disapproving;

Never patient.

Her glare sears so deep,

That your skin, your flesh, you bones ache.

Blame her.

Blame it on her words.

Always violent;

Never understanding.

Her questions punch you,

Until your lungs no longer have the will to give your lips answers.

Blame her.

Blame it on her body.

Always closed;

Never welcoming.

The way her hips, and her thighs and her stomach and her butt have grown disgust you.

Blame her.

Blame her for not enough gas money

2 am daddy isn’t home

no phone calls for months

your threats

my tears

this relationship

Blame her.

Always accuse;

Never apologize.

Paint her so dark with sin that you appear an angel.

Blame her.

Blame her..

But I know the truth.

Oh, I know her temper.

Always commanding.

Never afraid.

Her anger cries so loud because she is alive and fierce and wonderful.

All those things she could never be with you.

I know.

I know her eyes.

Always searching.

Never deceived.

So wide and brown and beautiful and knowing.

Never fooled by the lies that you told.

I know.

I know her words.

Always so powerful.

Never delicate.

She speaks from her mind and her heart because she is real and she is honest and she is alive.

I know.

I know her body.

Always cautious;

Never submissive.

Her curves so healthy and beautiful because she is a woman and not an object. She is not here on earth to please and conform and agree.

She is here to love and eat and care and be.

I know.

Always accuse;

Never apologize.

Paint her so dark with sin

But I know its your blood on the paintbrush

I know.

I know her temper and her eyes and her words and her body.

And I know that they are to blame for everything great about me.

So sure, go ahead, blame her.