Of Indigo and Indignation
There is a battlefield embedded in my bones and this poem is a war crime.
I launched a grenade in my own direction and planted a land mine in my belly
When at 8 years old I realized little girls aren’t afforded certainty and women aren’t allowed to know what we know.
…..
Of these things I am certain:
There is more than one shade of darkness that stares back at me from the passenger window on nights when the air is thin.
Stillness comes in many shapes and sizes, so those of us who are still learning the value of silence can nibble at its edges until we adjust to the taste of it.
The fact that indigo earned a stripe of its own on the light spectrum for no apparent reason is evidence enough that we’ve all got a chance to make it even when our mistakes turn us the color of stormy skies.
…..
I asked a friend the other day if there are any true bohemians left in the world or if I have missed my chance and have only cream-colored macrame wall art to show for all my longings to live outside the circle that has been drawn too tight around me.
Once my gifted and talented teacher demonstrated what diffusion was by having us all squish our sixth grade bodies into a small masking tape square on the floor until the urge to escape and scatter ourselves throughout the room could no longer be avoided.
I didn’t much like my sixth grade body or having it in close proximity to other bodies and I was never one for cute lessons, but I did learn that I belong on the outskirts where it’s easier to breathe that day.
When I raised my hand in class the next day I was slightly more convinced I knew what I was talking about even if other people doubted me.
I sauntered home and told my mom straight off for not believing me when I told her things that were true. She did not take the news well, and soon I was locked in my room trying to process the confusion that everyone was allowed to be certain of their own anger except me.
…..
I am friends with what seems to be a disproportionate amount of people who send memes and videos punctuated with laughing face emojis on a daily basis. I have never loved the taste of silliness on my tongue and rarely watch the things they send, but I do try to make it seem as though I have so as not to detonate that land mine I planted in my belly all those years ago.
…..
A wise man recently said to me that the warrior is a necessary part of building a mindful identity, so I asked my therapist if she believed that a little girl who was terrified of her own anger could ever feel safe with a sword strapped to her back.
She pushed the buttons on the traveling lights that magically reprogram your brain and together we gave that little girl a fighting chance.
…..
My first decision as commander of chief of my own body was to free the hostages who had been being starved by my fear.
Then I lie still while the soul medics pulled that land mine safely out of me and took the grenade away before I could pull the pin.
Turns out the battle in my bones is not one that leaves a swath of destruction in its wake. It is, instead, an effort to flank the world’s wearied troops with warriors who carry love in their sheaths and shoot kindness at the ghosts on the opposite side of the battlefield
Who didn’t survive the bloodied burden of hatred and all the -isms lobbed at them in the dark after a day when they were promised peace, promised firing would cease.
…..
This morning I opened my eyes and drank poetry before coffee, invited myself into the new day by sewing my heart onto my sleeve and lacing up my indigo combat boots
While I waited for the world to hand me my marching orders, drew my breaths slowly until I could hear the victory chant building to a crescendo on the downbeat of my heart.