Poetry for the Picking

Original Poetry by Paula Gillison

Right now I am willing to change
Willing to ebb and flow for my lover
Willing to release so I can receive
Willing to die a little
Let go of the notions
how preconceived and trite they are
willing to bend and lean; push and pull
fall
For myself
willing to watch everything burn
willing to burn it and willing to help rebuild it all
Change is necessary and cliche’ and holy
If I change a little, just a small amount,
I could tip the scales, alter the balance, and liberate myself
from all I was unwilling to change.

Owe myself grace
My journey had not been an easy one
I have been statics and fairytales
Broken dreams and the bully
I owe myself a little peace from the madness
I owe myself spirituality
And a deeper understanding of my who, what, when and hows
I owe myself gentleness
I deserve touches as kind as the summer wind to roses
I owe myself expansion
To see greater things
To taste the unexplainable
Tor ripple from the pebble to the ocean
I deserve so much bigger than just what I can afford
I owe myself a chance to see what I can offer
I owe myself the opportunity to yes
For so long, there’s been a box around my hands, my feet, my mind
Saying this is your lane
I owe myself the whole highway
The open road over an endless sky
And the peace of mind to accept it all

I am still learning to like my voice
The awkward space in the air used to bother me
So I ramble
Let all my thoughts spew into space like stars searching for unused parts in the night sky
This sort of awkward used to bother me
Trying to find thoughts
Looking for fancy words to express myself
Trying to remember what word of the day my dictionary suggested so I can use it in a sentence
I feel convoluted. That was today’s word.
A mixed-up jumbled mess of emotions, thoughts, words, excitement, anger, pain
I’m still learning to like myself
Maybe that’s why my voice struggles
The fear that someone will think
“Is she educated enough for this”
Or “who gave her permission”
When my voice clears itself
The guttural humming of my soul pipes up
My ancestors grave rolling is the hiss between the gaps in my teeth
And I am reminded
And I remember
I’m made for this shit
I do this shit
I love this shit
No one has to giver me permission
And then I remember
Nikki GIovanni owns one of my books
I’m still learning to like my voice
But thank goodness my voice already likes me

Keeper of the earth, he is the sunlight
Among weeds and thorns, he is a tree
More fruitful and more fertile, I grow for him
Abundant in nutrients and sufficient
Unearthed. He planted himself by running waters

To see a color I’ve never seen before
To eat a meal that hadn’t existed before someone cooked it for me
To stand where no one had ever stood
To love first
To come back later
To keep a promise in my back pocket
To dream in 5 dimensions
To cocoon and tunnel
To listen loudly
To sing for an audience of butterflies
With crickets strumming along
To orbit the planet
As the sun
Then I’ll be ready

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