My power does not lay
My power does not lay
in the yearn, the burn
at the top of the summit
or how much I suck in
the gentle protrusion
of my stomach
Rather,
it flies
in the ripples of laughter
that grace
the shore of my life
in the wilting rope
I’ve replaced
with lace,
flowing with hope
in the silhouette of my soul
the labor of love
and the way I’ve unleashed
myself,
freer than a dove
In the tears
that are no more
and no less
than allowing myself
to finally express
In the whistle of the wind
carrying me
to here
to now
and how
I’ve discovered
that often
the hurt can endow
In realizing I am
an animal,
under a golden muse
with prairies
green sanctuaries,
no robot
created simply
to do what I ought
For I am the thunder
that strikes
as she wants
I am the roar,
ground trembling
beneath willing claws
and I am here to remind you:
if the mirror dares try
to claim your power,
please reread this.
take a breath
take a
pause.
Please realize:
you are what shakes
the valleys of your soul
you are the glow of the moon,
no matter how full.
Emma Butterfield
Administrator
•Portland based ecstatic dancer and yogi with a quirky sense of humor who loves the outdoors most of the time • Creative Nonfiction and Poetry• Healing backwards and forwards in time• ~My writing is something I pour my heart and energy into. Please keep this in mind and do not share without asking permission.~
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