an ode to parts of speech (and parts of myself) I don’t understand

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Unmaking,

unmasking,

retasking,

retaking,

rethinking this business of being an adult.

Undoing,

regluing,

refining,

undermining what came before this part of the book.

A chapter, a page, or a poorly constructed sentence,

tossed with only a few words remaining.

Revoking the small,

redeeming the bold,

waiting impatiently for me to do the work.

Unnerving,

uncomfortable,

unintentionally tripping over the past,

including what may have happened

yesterday afternoon.

Finding my place to stand,

steady,

ready,

resolved.

I am more than the story that arrived

on my doorstep,

without my permission, or a place to sit.

I am a mess, but damn it, a beautiful mess

in a shimmering universe of

glorious messiness.

Forgiving,

forgetting,

listening,

loving,

learning,

cultivating myself through life worth living,

with words, not whispers.

 

 

Words and photo by Kim Tackett, Wicker Park, Chicago.

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