Poetry Month Celebration Day 17

I don’t know why, but we all have a habit of getting into habits. We stick ourselves in a rut and are afraid to leave it. Even me, though maybe not so much as some others: vagabond heart and all that. We do it, though, we deny there is more to us than meets the eye, even while bemoaning the fact that nobody sees more of us than we show. We are weird, and that’s okay.

Vibrant Vivisection 

Dichotomy
Die
Cot
Oh
Me

I do not know
this seems like an insufficient
description
of my experience
I am never torn in two
but into
a thousand pieces all flying in a thousand directions
some settling
some racing ever on
some dull
some brilliant
something has to give

Maybe not though
there is something to be said
for keeping one’s options open
and I am spoiled for choice

Dichotomy
it works in some cases
there are aspects of me cleft in twain
opposites pushing apart
despite the laws of nature

I am a city kid
and a country gal
I mean real country
not this small town
John Deere fixated
melanin deficient
morass of myopia
but real country
nearest neighbor five miles away
and it is an occasion when you see them
and mundane to see the odd bear
that kind of country

I am an old-fashioned radical
a working class romantic
gripping ideas in my heart like a vise
believing in the power of the handshake
knowing the world needs so much more

I am dainty and ditzy
and rough and ready
and all sorts of things in between

I am the same as the rest of you
and something never seen before
just like the rest of you

All these identities
markers to warn and guide you through our interactions
make life a harrowing and hurtful mess
but they make it so much fun too
and I would not trade them
for the idol of the me that entices
even while keeping itself out of sight

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