Contradictions

I am a complex creation full of contradictions
can’t place me in a box for your own easy categorization.
I am weak and strong,
insecure and confident,
lonely yet never alone.
I am a mother who loves deeply,
yet a daughter who still wishes she’d known a mother’s love.
I love deeply and passionately
am hurt easily, yet forgive just as easily.
I am giving and compassionate
but will not be used or taken advantage of.
I do not like solitude; I am comforted by noise,
I like to stay busy but sometimes am overwhelmed by all life’s to-do’s.
I am a hopeless romantic who has been heartbroken,
yet mended the tattered pieces,
so that I can be whole when I find my life partner.
I’m on the verge of being an atheist
yet still find comfort in the beauty and ritual of my old church,
am spontaneous and adventurous and despise the word structure,
yet have learned to live a life that is very scheduled most days
with work and school and children and obligations.
I love learning and reading and writing,
poetry probably saved my adolescent self from self-destructing.
I am a bleeding-heart liberal
who pro-created with an ultraconservative country boy,
and am now raising two amazing daughters who want to save the world.
I spend most of my money on experiences, not things,
love to travel, fall in love with a place but never go back, as I want to see the whole world first!

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I cry easily at movies, but keep it together through death and crisis
I feel emotional pain like daggers through every inch of my body,
yet barely feel a dull discomfort from physical “pain.”
I am weak when it comes to love, men, chocolate,
strong when it comes to pushing through without sleep,
taking on just one more thing, or quieting the nightmares of the past.

I am soft and gentle and nurturing
with my kisses, my touch, my caress
yet can whip you with the words I unleash from my tongue when crossed.
I can hold you when you are hurting and make you feel safe and comforted,
and then unleash a wild, passionate, sexual side you never saw coming.

I write love poems and send flowers
and do all the other romantic things most girls expect done for them,
but never think to reciprocate.
I allow the traditional roles of man and woman to be blurred sometimes
yet still appreciate when you take the lead, open my door,
offer to take on my burdens or be my protector.

I have a life and a mind that are constantly full of stimulation
don’t like to sit still for too long or be quiet,
prefer music as a backdrop for all life’s activity,
yet am calmed and comforted just by the sound of a strong man’s voice
and rest the most peacefully in sturdy arms.

My heart is fragile, I’m full of optimism and hope,
I love deeply and passionately, am easily disappointed,
my heart can be shattered into a million pieces
yet I always recover, I can put the pieces together
I can trust again and love again and never become bitter.

My vision for my life is so clearly formed
it’s hard for me to adjust sometimes when things don’t work out,
but I always do, I surrender to life’s changes
because to resist, to give-in, to quit, to let go of hope, to never love again,
would be to allow my soul to stop living.

Thanks!

Thank you to everyone who checked out my new blog today! Just a reminder, this site IS interactive so feel free to like, share, comment with praise, suggestions, thoughts or critiques! 

I would love to sit down for a few hours and really get this thing put together; unfortunately I don’t have a working real computer right now, just my cell phone and Kindle Fire! My laptop isn’t charging, I’m not sure what we do to fry them?! And the desktop I inherited from my dad is waiting for someone to put all the pieces together and get regular (nonwireless) internet…

This weekend I have a super exciting meeting I get to take minutes at, bringing my girls to my friend E’s house, going to a cousin’s wedding, and then spending all day Sunday on the St. Croix River. I am sure my oldest will take splendid pictures, while both of them take turns arguing over why the other one should be paddling! 

Just give me this final week to soak in summer with my kids, and then I promise I will spend some time in our living quarters attempting to make it look like an adult lives there!

BEAUTIFUL

This is my body,
all the areas that feel so soft under your caress
that connect to something magical inside of me when touched
the hairs that stand on end when you whisper in my earlobe,
the freckles that get darker under the warm summer sun
and fade away during the harshness of winter
skin that cries out for moisture,
that tries to hide all the bones and blood within,
but some of the veins in my hands and wrists insist on being seen anyway.

This is my body
that is a colorful canvas,
with its pink undertones on cream flesh, flecks of brown, blue veins, blue eyes,
hair that’s mostly a deep brown, with a persistent red that pushes through
and now, several coarse grey hairs that insist on making their mark
right on top, yelling that youth is leaving, and perhaps wisdom is coming.

This is my body
with its hard elbows and dry, cracking feet
that never seem to smell quite as wonderful as you’d like
but have gotten me to the tops of peaks to look down at beautiful vistas
or hurried me along, and away from danger’s hands
they aren’t ticklish, they aren’t small and dainty, they are strong and sturdy feet.

This is my body
with parts that feel weak and parts that feel strong
parts that are alive with passion and parts that are tired
with lines and scars and stretch marks and occasional pimples,
confused whether its face is still a teenager or a middle aged woman.

This is my body
with eyebrows that are rarely plucked
lips that are almost daily covered in some color or shimmer
eyes that want to see but need help so my vision is not blurred
ears that connect to hips that move to beats that change the pace of my heart.

This is my body
that has been shared and taken and slapped and beaten and choked
and torn and bruised and stretched and bitten
it has seen and experienced humans at their worst,
has been cold and hungry and fatigued and housed a person who felt like quitting
but has kept on going and going and going.

This is my body
it has worked through all kinds of pain but has seen so much joy
some of those scars and stretch marks came when this body carried two beautiful babies within its womb,
nursed them at its breasts one year each
and has held and nurtured and comforted and calmed children in its loving arms.

This is my body
perfect in its imperfections, strong in its weakness,
lovely in its contradictions,
capable of storing a lifetime of memories in each of its cells,
pulsating and sweating and screaming at times,
but always – BEAUTIFUL!

The musings of a 30-something, urban, single mother

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