Poetry 106: Just As I Am

Just as I am

Maybe I  am more like,

just like,

the blade of grass. 

The crow. 

The cloud in the sky. 

Maybe, just maybe,

god  wanted me 

just 

like 

this. 

Just as I am. 

Could that possibly be possible?

I can't even fathom,

and yet, I now wonder. 

Often. 

Because if that's true,

as things like god and theology can be,

then, what?

Do I sit?

Take a breath?

Maybe two. 

Do I let go?

Do I step outside 

to sing, celebrate and breakdance in the street?

What if I am already the person I am supposed to be?

What if my mind is the mind it is supposed to be?

And my body is the body it is supposed to be?

What would I do then?

How would I proceed?

To realize, at age 39, 

that me 

and the black bear outside my door 

are exactly as we should be,

seems like the worst April fools joke

that could simultaneously mean my freedom. 

If I embody myself,

just as I am,

what would happen next?


-Me