A Love Song

DO you know you?
I didn’t know me.
I knew my name, what size shoe I wear
I knew how I liked my hair and what books I read
I knew my weight, complexion, astrological sign
But I didn’t know me
I knew what flavour ice cream I enjoyed
I knew where exactly the moles on my face made their homes
I knew which drinks I liked and knew I didn’t like drugs or being high
But I didn’t know me
I knew confrontation use to make me cry
I knew I wasn’t afraid of confrontation anymore
I knew where I kept my socks and what I liked for breakfast
My phone number
My favourite number
My birthday
My eye colour
My favourite colour
I knew my shirt size
The prescription for my eyes
My address
But I didn’t know me.
Then I got to know me.
I looked at my bare body in the mirror. I studied me up and down.
I walked with myself thru the parks and among trees and listened to the way nature said my name.
I started listening when my spirit, not my mouth, would speak.
I opened up to acknowledge when I was right but also wrong.
I went out with me, and noted what made me laugh.
I talked to myself; I may sound crazy, but I did.
I answered myself too.
I asked honest questions and took the time to formulate honest answers.
I started to fall. Was this love? I started to know myself. Was THIS love?
I was falling in love.
And I fell like rain in summer; quick and warm.
Not narcissism, but appreciation.
Full of beauty, and I didn’t mean my face.
Loyal, almost to a fault, I am.
A dreamer, trying to stuff several different lifetimes of happiness into one.
I’m funny. Like hysterically comical.
I laugh from my gut, and cry from my heart.
When I suffer it’s deep and when I’m happy I fly.
Short fused I can be and defensive when old insecurities present themselves.
Negativity use to consume me, but I’m more at peace in positivity.
Now, I’m actively knowing me. And in knowing me I’m loving me.
Love is in me for me from me.
Not giving up me for a he or a she or a we or a they.
I’m good loving me.
Today is my birthday; the day I give birth to loving me. All of me. The only “me” I get.

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