This is the real me.
Here's where I have worry lines on my forehead
From thinking too much
Where memories of wearing my brothers' clothes
Make my face look like a boy's in the mirror
Here's where my mouth is tight with residual fear
From silent dinners still ingrained in my cells
That make one unnecessary word from my mouth sacrilege
And where my eyes are puffy in the morning
From too much sadness and sleepless nights
Here's where my too-white skin, for which I was teased,
Has red marks from sunburns long past
Stretch marks on my abdomen and breasts
Remind me that when I carried my baby
There were no photographs of a man
With his hand on my round belly
Here is the real me.
I know you have a real you, too
And I want to see
Please show it to me!
Strip all the madness away
Why cannot we love ourselves
Where we have been hurt?


Real more of my poetry.