Briefly It Enters, & Briefly It Speaks ~ Jane Kenyon

Thanks Rebecca K.

Crying in the night – afraid of what I want to be because it is told to me that that is bad – against the doctrines I am supposed to follow – the day came that I threw up my hands tore my hair shouted to the sky -resolved never to take another step backward- I felt the wings on my back quiver with the hope that they would finally be unbound – released to fly – others spoke the same rhetoric of examples – women who have failed how it is our place to watch the men succeed to clean the house bear the children.

I Have Been Her

I tore my hands from the clawing embrace and promised myself I would never become the possession of another – promised I would not let myself be confined to small spaces – that I would let the mists of my mind soar on dove’s wings through the rain falling over the big empty of the world – promised I would shed my tears unashamedly so that I would make room for my laughter – swore I would learn to climb so I could fly from the tallest peak.

I Have Been Her

I have flown and I have fallen – I have laughed and I have cried – to stay free I remember that I -lose the soulskin by becoming too involved with ego, by being to exacting perfectionistic or unnecessarily martyred, or driven by a blind ambition or by being dissatisfied about self family community culture world and not saying or doing anything about it or by pretending [ I am] an unending source for others or by not doing all [I] can to help [myself]- sometimes I realize that I have clipped my own wings by doing one of the very things I have warned myself to guard against.

I Have Been Her

Sometimes I realize that people aren’t who I thought they were and that I should have trusted my initial reaction that I dismissed as being a bitch – and that had I listened to that initial reaction I wouldn’t be in a place where people around me hang dark clouds over their heads and try to drag me under the current of their own flood.

I Have Been Her

Sometimes I realize that I am -Hambre del Alma, the starving soul- to feed the starvation I write – I pour out my woes and the ink sometimes feel like blood in my hands and when I am done I am emptied of the poisons I willingly consumed.

I Have Been Her

Sometimes it would be better to weep in front of the world so that they could see something was wrong – maybe if others had seen me cry they would realize the pain I bear – that everyone bears inside but are told to bury because it isn’t polite to freak out in public – and I try to cry so that I have room to laugh but I rarely spill those tears anywhere other than the page and the night – the two times that that has occurred have both been because of men and I detest the typicality of that.

I Have Been Her

The first I was thirteen and full of fire and for the first time I felt that fire snuffed out by the only man who could have done so – my father whose words are sharper than his knives and faster than his bullets and I survived but the scar tissue still pulls from time to time.

I Have Been Her

The second time I was 21 and full of hope with no idea how to use it or act on it and then I did and the hope was gone – in some ways that one hurt more than the first because I did it to myself – and I suppose that is why all the books and histories say -the regal woman the one who rules who looks on who stands alone- because in refusing to sacrifice yourself – refusing to follow the rules and be normal – you must be willing to stand alone – but you must also be willing to recognize those who stand with you – others who fight the definitions placed on them – who follow their dreams – who pick you up dry your tears and tell you to buck up and live on – and I am fortunate to have those people because not everyone does – and they cannot save you but they can make you save yourself.
I Have Been Her

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