300 things to do, and
we went down to the beach.
In a tide of families
casting a net around the summer sun.
And briefly, my soul sang like
water over beach rocks
Before my mind recalled
A sundry list of things I’d left undone.
I haven’t written a poem in a while, but I have something for you! Before you read it as an attack on anyone though, I just want everyone to understand that the biggest target here is myself. I’m not really trying to criticize anyone. Just having a few thoughts.
White Woman Spirituality
How do I dare approach?
My people have already put a claim on everything,
a brand sticker, a price tag, and I
am another one, stinking of patchouli
sniffing around the appropriated edges of what has never been mine.
I am a stigma on myself.
Betrayed by inherent adherence to stereotype
skin so white, yoga pants so tight,
(The gurus say to do it, but
giving up lattés is so hard, y’know?)
the more I protest that,
“I am different”
the more we sound the same.