I marvel at the pieces of me left behind.
With people I met shortly or for years
Like a cake I let them taste the sweetness perhaps make lemonade with the sour
Some I may not recall much but they felt home with me
Or felt lost with different versions of me
I walked backwards recollecting my prints
To some I was their glasses so they could see a distance
To some I was a bridge they stepped to cross
To others I was this great iconic gal they wanna look up to.
With a great voice that can sing and anchor.
To the few who know me out of work, I can be your comedian. And make us laugh.
To one guy I’m this girl who should be wifed up real quick. One he wants to keep. She fits that wife material description
Yet to another I was a nuisance lady not fitting in his standards One he won’t want
To others I come as this lover of life, with lots of energy
To Some I came as this girl with no confidence to see tomorrow or face toughness
To others I’m the sister and loyal friend you can count on year in year out.
I still marvel at pieces of me left behind
In all the phases described, I have been felt deeply and greatly
In good and in not good, both in measures satisfactory
But those are parts of me that form my print.
Prints can never be uniform
They’re rugged scribbled, torn and repaired, with a stiche here and there
With beautiful patterns and ugly ones
Good thing we print daily.
And those are parts of me I’ve left behind