Picking Up The Pieces

INTRODUCTIONS PT. 2

INTRODUCTIONS PT.2

I met myself for the first time when I was 22.

She wasn't what I thought She'd be.

You see, she had burgundy-colored hair.

Like a fine red wine from deep within Napa Valley,

She carried herself like she was worth something.

She had more tattoos.

They covered her miles of skin sporadically,

And blazed in the light with pride.

She didn't judge them, or worry about her future with them on her.

She had a nose piercing.

Her confidence radiated off me until it was tangible.

She was a lioness, stalking its prey.

She was a member of the Goddess Rebellion.

Before that day, I had only caught glimpses of her as she turned the corner.

But I was mentally stuck as a toddler.

Object permanence meant nothing to me.

I couldn't see myself around the corner, so she must not be there, right?

So I trudged in my day-to-day life,

Becoming discouraged by my chestnut brown hair.

Becoming discouraged that my Asian family disapproved of the look I wanted.

Becoming discouraged that despite me following her around that corner,

She was gone. And I couldn't find her.

I haven't had a conversation with myself yet.

I don't know her likes and dislikes,

I don't know her hopes and dreams,

And I certainly don't know what she thought of me.

When I finally have that conversation,

My questions will come tumbling out of my mouth

Like a dam that has given way.

It will be unstoppable.

For now, though, I will keep an eye out for a burgundy-haired,

Tattooed and pierced girl that carries herself with confidence.

I look forward to meeting her again.

I look forward to getting to know her more someday.