Rainbows in closets

I’m sitting in my unfinished closet.

In the middle of my room sits a faucet.

I’m ready, open, and embracing change.

any form will do.

Feels oh so good to smile at the sun

and feel it smiling back too.

My closet’s calming.

I could sit here for days.

But there’s life beyond this calming paint-

A rainbow of mints, oranges, greens & grays.
I find the longer life gets,

the more colors I’ll see.

In smiles, in hearts, in closets,

and sometimes in me.

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My identity

I envy folks who can erase their history and create a new definition of who they are; that is absolutely brave. I have this need to learn everything there is about me: the mundane, the things worthy of pride & shame and the parts of my story that were ripped from me.Whether it is fortunate or not, every single part of me, past and present, is who I am.

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The key to carrying my past (my stories & the stories of my ancestors) is perspective. I can choose to let my history drag me down or I can say “I am Imani : daughter, sister, cousin, friend & grandchild. I am one part of a long story that is always expanding, and though it is not perfect, all of it is mine”. I cannot separate myself from this story because I don’t want to lose that feeling of representing something greater than myself. And I agree that it is no one’s job to represent anything, but I volunteer.

So, when I step forward (or backwards), I’m stepping with great-great Mary A. Johnson, My Mom, My Grandma’s, my dear Aunts and Uncles, and everyone who has brought me here.

And, here we are.