Poem: Grace.

Grace.

Hello! Poem number 1.

It is interesting that the first poem I publish is one about my tiny ‘flaws’, my idiosyncrasies. I don’t hate myself— I don’t think anyone should hate themselves for their quirks. I think it is important every now and then to be aware of your own abilities: from everything you love about yourself to everything you might not like so much. Without further ado, this is Grace. Enjoy!


 I notice my steps are a bit too loud
My hands a bit too strong
They tell me
I don’t move like a lady
 
I walk like a gangly,
Crawling spider
No curves or grace
Just in straight lines to cover space
 
I fold my hips to get away from the corners
I look like a plastic straw
Bent and easily crumpled
I think that’s the me they saw.
 
Sometimes it doesn’t work
I bump into things
More often than the average person
I don’t think my hips would worsen.
 
I walk in a constant slouch
My neck forever raised
My back curved at an angle
I become a walking letter C
 
Whenever I try to dance
I always end up inverted
Reflected in the y-axis
And some hard lines put together like a moving, sentient cactus.
 
I guess I’m a little hard around the edges
Like a cog in need of oil to properly work
And maybe I’m getting there
That or it’s just one of my quirks.

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