poem: Gracious and Loved

for Aleia

 

You are a gracious and subdued child

eyes to the ground, a voice almost

never raised, a heart made grateful for

every small gift bestowed upon you,

like I was, at your age, uncannily so,

I think. A soul that has been convinced

it is made for "making do." Do you also

at Christmas wait until last to open

all of your own presents, purposely

holding back your natural excitement

in measured secret heartbeats only

you know? Do you write your desires

deep only in journals, and hide them

well, even from your own prying eyes?

How often were you told "you can do

anything you want as long as it looks

the master plan for you?" Do you arrive

first to parties and help with preparations

so the host can enjoy her time? Is the

love you deserve proportional to good

behavior and do you sometimes in the

dark leave bite marks in your pillow

from teeth clenched in a seething rage

and your face hot and shameful and

your breath catching in ragged gasps

as you choke down something beyond

your grasp that you are so envious of

that others have come to them so

damned easily? Do you stand outside

under trees and wish you could be

absorbed into them, stand besides

rivers and wish you could melt, do you

know what I am talking about a little

bit maybe? If you do, there is something

I want to tell you, something you need

to hear: a girl was never created to be

her momma's maid servant; you have

a right to choose your own course and

destiny and learn whether or not you

have wings. You are entitled to and you

deserve exactly everything in this world

that will make that empty space in your

chest fill with the joy and wonder of being

alive and all you ever have to do to get it

is the single hardest thing you have ever

done in your entire life. It involves the art

of swallowing a metal rod and inserting it

surgically into your own backbone, and it

involves letting yourself be first in line and

taking that journal and defining every

beautiful thing in this world you wish

could be yours, letting your fingers dance

over their surfaces and then taking a deep

breath and looking ahead, being goddamned

selfish for the first time in your 16 years

and just plain asking for them. I promise

you the tears will be hard but not as hard

as the ones you will cry if you always just

accept whatever scraps are handed to you.

Take it from a grown woman who has been

there. I see YOU. You deserve to be loved.

Author's Note

for my ex boyfriend's beautiful daughter. I won't get to see her this year. but I want her to know I am still here for her and always will be. Love you, sweetie.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

in my own way i relate to this...many years of therapy trying to learn that i deserve to have what makes me happy...i have this tendency always to feel that i owe or that it is my job to take care of others first, and me last...and that i don't deserve...learning we deserve in life is tough...

this poem is really a wonderful insight into that...and it is advice that should be heeded, Marie.

jacob

[Marie Anzalone]

Is there anything tougher than believing we deserve the bounties that this life has to offer? We go through so much indecision and trying to earn love, to earn respect, to earn our right to live or exist. Trying to feel worthy. I try to take to heart the book that helped me pull myself out of a cycle of depression and anger and disillusionment:

“You often say, 'I would give, but only to the deserving.'
The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture.
They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish.
Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and his nights, is worthy of all else from you.
And he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream. ”

― Kahlil Gibran

[Clockwork]

This one is particularly close to my heart for reasons that you already know, so I won't post them here. However, I also really identify with this one on a personal level. I have often that I only deserved scraps, and that I should deffer for others. However, a good friend told me that to really be a part of life, we have to participate in it. We have to go out and make it our own. You shows us how to do that with this poem. Especially with the lines about strengthening our backbone and writing all of the things we want in that journal. All of that is awesome advice. And one of my favorite parts: "a girl was never created to be/her momma's maid servant." Great message here my friend.

[Marie Anzalone]

Your reasons are most certainly acknowledged and held close. And yes, life is a participatory event, not a spectator sport. It is all too easy to sit back and let it happen to us, instead of making it our own creation. You can be the victim, or not.

She is going through a VERY tough awakening right now, and could use all the support and friends she could get. Her father just found out that regressive home-schooling has put her 2 years behind. You can imagine, he is livid. At this point, her chances of college are the thing in balance. We are using all of the ammunition we have. Any help would be appreciated.