Written April 17, 2003
Inspired by Zora Neal Hurston's How It Feels To Be Colored Me
How does it feel to be unlabeled me?
Am I generic? I cannot be
How to define an elusive label?
Enlighten me, please! If you are able
So many parts, so many fractures to see,
Like a cubist version, I seem to be
Cracked and broken, glued whole again.
Overlapped and upside down, with no end.
One dimension of me is the artist within.
Three dimensions of me is the children - oh, them?
Another dimension is the husband - oh, he?
How in the world does he put up with me?
More questions than answers
More love than hate
Less time for them all
Less of me, I'm late
Never-ending - pouring in, pouring out
My cup runneth over - I shall not pout
Twirling in circles, our world's a wonder
Shades of gray to me, 'wilst I'm torn asunder
Do this, do that - be here, be there
Don't forget to breathe the beauteous air
Look at the moon, so round and so bright
Feeling the pressure squeezing me tight
I'm a many-armed octopus
A split-persona - salutations from us
Mommy and honey, sissy kay and [GASP] witch
So many Me's, I forget to switch
Cynical one minute, solemn in thought
Not comprehending the disasters we've wrought
Continuing my journey, the answers are there
Optimistic I'll receive my lessons to bear
Traveling in books to lands far way
Knowing in the end, I'm right here to stay
Deepening my reserves, exploring and delving
In this life what I've learned - sorting and shelving
People might say as a Mom I'm a mess
My daughter wears cowboy boots with her dress
The beds are unmade, the laundry's in piles
Let's take a walk, keep trekking for miles
Homework gets done, but maybe tomorrow
Talk to me please, share each joy and each sorrow
We try to remember to kiss and to hug
I'll leave the dishes, just give me a tug
My siblings are many, 4 girls and 3 boys
Still just as crazy as when we fought over toys
The Adventure People are upon my shelf
Reminding me plenty of all aspects of self
Pippi reprises our patches and tears
Still laughing loudly at our ridiculous selves
When we're together - it's thunderous roars
Conspiring and continuing our slamming of doors
Watching our children, reflecting our roots
We clasp hands, one by one, as we rally the troops
Celebrating the births, grieving the beloved and gone
Most emotional, the tallest, the baldest - that's John
So it's artist today, and Mommy it's true
Yesterday's sissy, and now Honey, too
Sher to my friends, that's nothing new
I'll glance in the mirror and think "who are you?"
Don't box me in! Labels are impossible
Don't even try - unless it's removable!
Twisting and turning, changing each day,
I'm not confused, I like it that way!