How It Feels To Be Unlabeled Me

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!