A Woman’s Spirit

The dichotomy of a woman’s spirit:
In me, there is contradiction lurking—

Behind the boxes marked FORMER SELVES,
MEMORIES,
LESSONS: LEARNED, FAILED, and
TRY AGAIN, SOMEDAY
The elusive someday, Someday I will..

—A shy and abject vulnerability, my internal discord,
Obscured by apprehension manufactured in excess

This day, yesterday, and tomorrows too,
Pile up in disarray, collecting weight,
SOMEDAY slips between the past and the
Box marked ALMOST.

In me, there is indomitable spirit, a gritty
Resolve unparalleled, a near perfect fearlessness—

Visible in my stride, the SWINGING OF MY HIPS,
CONVICTION,
ACCOMPLISHMENTS: TRIVIAL, KING-SIZED, and
NEAR MISSES, EVERYDAY
The authentic life, Everyday I do..

—My shy and abject vulnerability, my internal discord,
Obliterated without thought, effortlessly through action

Reckless abandonment of convention
Creative invention, defining moments
SPENT frivolously in passionate pursuits
Valiantly with no room for doubt, NEVER

In me, there is naïve bravery and sincere humility
Rattling about, wisps of consciousness vital for flight—

Determination and desire, THRIVING, EVEN IN DOUBT,
BATTLES,
FORCES: IN AND OUT OF MY CONTROL
CONTRIDICTIONS, my pieces unite
To live this authentic life, Every time without fail

—My shy and abject vulnerability, my internal discord,
I lay down with respect, to fulfill passionate pursuits

The conflicted halves of the whole
In accord, weld a bond
Between the shadows and beams of light
Uniting the dichotomy of a woman’s spirit

A WOMAN, a man would say, is a puzzle. She confounds. She’s nonsensical. In the silence of her own heart, she’d agree. Rarely does she admit she’s bewildering, even to herself, she battles her contradictions.

A WOMAN knows her pieces make up the whole. Each piece is necessary for her dreams to take flight, each in service to the purpose.

Doubt pushes her to try harder. Innocence and bravery drive her to pursue relentlessly what she catches sight of in a cloud of déjà vu. Humility and vulnerability stand her still.

She sprints, she stutters, and she questions her determination and courage, now obscured by doubt. On the brink of unraveling her hope lost, her aspirations unfold, piece by piece, until they bloom in the afternoon light.

Her quest once fraught with disappointment and false starts is now a story from the past, a lesson learned, a memory, an achievement, pieces of her authentic life she may one day document in verse, a story, or a letter for her children to find when she is dust in the wind.

How do you unite the conflicted pieces of your spirit?

Tagged as: an authentic life, National Poetry Writing Month, passionate pursuits, the sum of parts, women's strength