Posts in I am Mixed
On Healing

It takes time. It takes a long time to wash away. It takes longer to soften enough to see the receding wave, to follow it back out. The crashing is easier, harsher, louder, claiming attention. But the return is a different kind of strong. It cuts under all the noise, to the soul of the sea. It takes time to see them both, the in and the out, as something whole. And then to feel that I am part of this? That's another lifetime worth of time.

Still standing

Still standing, with all the complexity of this one life. Still standing and seeing myself, even that shadow. Can I peel back another layer and just be glad to have had these two eyes to see myself a little clearer? That moment is gone and I am still standing. Heavy eyes. Heavy shoulders still gripping. 

 

Still standing. 

poetry, I am MixedMegan Jones
Day 99

The second look

left an aftertaste, or echo

–not unpleasant, though

 

how complete bewildering.

 

To offer such a thing as

respect

to a flashing vision, a strong word of

another,

pleading all the while

for your own self.

 

And though the behavoir is

repeatable, that feeling

cannot be taught.

 

Keep looking.

Day 94

Whisper backward the lines,

the plot line

reversed–

 

Can we foreshadow the past,

rewrite our history,

 

make today more true for the

living.

100poems, I am MixedMegan Jones
Day 93

Step through the door

and welcome your shadow, first.

 

The rest of you,

vibrant, beautiful, needed,

will follow you down the hall. 

 

Close the doors and curtains,

close your eyes and rest –

but keep your ears up,

awake to any hints of

who you are.

 

Tomorrow, when you look in

the mirror

maybe you'll see someone

to love.

100poems, I am MixedMegan Jones
Day 88

No more hiding

–from myself, first.

 

I came into the room

feeling, again, the echo.

The unchanged parts

 

flare up, and burn.

 

Well, this time

–maybe just this once

I will wait

 

See what kind of embers

my heart can make,

 

look into my own eyes 

long enough to see

everything,

–myself included, first

soften.

 

I can feel different.

100poems, I am MixedMegan Jones
Day 82

There are waves 

flowing though the center

of us all. 

 

As one recedes,

crashing backward as an echo

creates the future,

 

a new sound is formed 

by the intersection. 

And so do not say you are unchanging. 

 

You are still crashing into the shore. 

You are never the same. 

100poems, I am MixedMegan Jones
Day 80 (It takes as long as it will take.)

And I can talk through my teeth

 

but this jaw remembers much more. 

Can I calm myself

like the sunset,

like the way the sun moves on. 

 

I feel my whole history,

here in my chest.  

 

And my ribs hear you.

I'm listening. 

How many breaths must bypass,

detour their way around,

 

until I'm ready.  

100poems, I am MixedMegan Jones
Day 75

I walk my line backward.

I learn how to;

 

I begin. 

 

And what part of the air 

I breathe 

is the same as yours. 

My jaw slowly gripping, my

heart beating the rhythm of 

freedom

into my throat.

 

Hear a different story. 

It is not too late.

100poems, I am MixedMegan Jones
Day 73 (On being a mother.)

My center of gravity 

shifted,

 

at least that must be true.

My mind could not catch up

fast enough to make meaning,

so my body 

broke open the foundation. 

 

And I can still feel the waves of 

my own divisions, crashing 

against each other, trying to make 

one wave, trying to be born or

give birth. (aren't they the same.)

 

I write my own story. 

I make my own wake. 

100poems, I am MixedMegan Jones
Day 70 (Dismantle thy self)

How do I get  

free. 

 

Free enough to 

notice which way the wind blows,

and feel at ease

not because it blows this way or that 

but because I can choose

wholeheartedly 

to feel it. 

 

Free enough to not cling to anything

but opened eyes, a quiet mind,

and a heart that I can feel beating. 

 

How do I get that free. 

I am Mixed, 100poemsMegan Jones
Day 67

Who told you to give up.

 

And other questions 

drained out through

my feet,

into the ground of 

all my names. 

 

the ones I claim and 

the ones you use. 

 

Do not tell me to give up.

Memorize my name. 

100poems, I am MixedMegan Jones