Hannah
written February 2008
You say you feel vulnerable.
In my mind’s eye I see your fear:
your chest split open, red,
glistening, but your beating heart
lets us know you’re not dead
yet. In this slow demise
there is no art.
Staring into the dark,
I know your unfocused eyes
don’t see at all.
This, I think, is what you dread.
You are afraid to feel small,
to feel mocked,
to let us see what you are made of.
You say you feel naked.
You mean exposed, alone;
you think we will be shocked
— disgusted — revolted
at what we find
beneath your skin.
Of course you’re afraid to let us in.
I say this to you:
pay no mind
to the overwhelming din
of doubt and hate and cruelty
you deafen yourself with.
You say you feel naked.
I say, rejoice!
There is no shame in nudity when
you make a humble choice
to share your closest secrets,
to shout your name
as loud as you can,
to tell your people,
here I am!
I am flawed today
— and in all my flaws
I am flawless.
There is no better way
to use your voice.