Sunday, May 1, 2011

Love. this.

I know nothing about performance poetry. I know enough about poetry to know that I love it...but I love writing in all forms really.

A friend of mine posted the below video on Facebook. This poem was the beginning portion of the video. I tried to find it in text format online and apparently it does not exist. So I transcribed it. That's how much I love it. That being said, it's probably all chopped up in the wrong places and I'm sure it's grammatically off. I'm tired and it took me a long time to type it up. This is as good as it gets. I could have just shown you the video, but reading something like this tends to impact me more.

Unfortunately (or fortunately rather), today is a day I say thank you. Lila has tested me a lot today. This video brought me back to Earth. Enjoy.

If I should have a daughter, instead of mom she’s gonna call me point B cause that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me.
And I’m gonna paint the solar systems on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “oh I know that like the back of my hand”.
And she’s gonna learn that this life will hit you. hard. in the face.... wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry. So the first time she realizes that wonder woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself.
Cause no matter how wide you stretch your fingers your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me. I’ve tried.  
And baby, I’ll tell her... don’t keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick. I’ve done it a million times. You’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in a fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.
But I know she will anyway. So instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Ok...there are a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for.  Because rain will wash away everything if you let it. 
I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass bottom look through a  microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind because that’s the way my mom taught me. 
That there’ll be days like this, there’ll be days like this, my momma said. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises.
When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape.
When your boots will fill with rain, and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.
Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away.

You will put the win in winsome, lose some.  You will put the star in starting over and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. 
And yes, on a scale from one to over trusting I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of can crumble so easily. But don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
Baby, I’ll tell her... remember your mama is a worrier and your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. 
And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong, but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing. 
And when they finally hand you heartache...when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you hand outs on street corners of cynicism and tell them that they really oughta meet your mother.


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