I no longer feel the weight of tiredness
fasten down my bones to the position of sitting,
or hold me still, sedentary.
Somewhere between all the ways
in which the years have taken from me
– love, laughter, the arms of my mother
– the daughter I was, the woman I was to be
a textured sigh slowly unfurled from my lips
and took the last fuck left to give with it.
I feel muscle in jaw clench like never before,
fists curl and eyes darken to toss out the blue
and fix sight on the image in the mirror
that I am learning more about each day.
There is no smallness in my stature anymore,
my shoulders are squared, braced, ready,
head lifted to dead-on stare down
the things I used to hide beneath.
To not be the girl I was is to see the who I am,
and the dust is settling on this new not-settling-for self
in ways that twist in my gut to push me forward
at times when I would shy away before.
I will no longer compromise my own bearing
to kneel at the feet of the not good enough
I once shined the shoes of
and lay down to be walked over for.
Is it wrong to finally move?
Is it wrong to have you circle around me for once?
Is it wrong to put you firmly in your place?
Watch me as I stand.