Poem of the Month

If I could become the woman of your dreams,
does that mean I can’t be
the woman of my own?

And what would I say
to the little ones watching?
The ones with curls and questions,
who still believe in magic potions?

Would I tell them, they should shapeshift?

For the right man? 
To shrink their truth into his fantasy?

Or would I tell them,
you can’t make someone love you
with spells or silence,
with perfectly timed texts
or dresses that hold in your gut.

Some things are not about becoming better,
Some things are about being seen.

And the truth is,
I could never be her.
Not really.
Not the woman with six figures and stilettos,
with lipstick that doesn’t smudge
and stories that don’t unravel.

But I could be the woman
who orders champagne
on a Tuesday night
just because we made it out of the past
Just for a second.

And maybe,
maybe you’d smile
like you’ve never seen me before.

Maybe we’d toast
to nothing at all

But I’d be toasting to the idea
that you almost had a second chance.