Human

 

This a poem about accepting who you are, and escaping your own merciless expectations.

Thanks for coming by to read.

 

How nice it is,

To comfort my fears,

To quiet my wounded pride;

How nice it is,

To let it all out,

Not bottle it up, inside.

 

The old me would go

and  bolt all the doors

And batten the hatches, too;

The old me would go

And rummage through drawers,

And search for a scapegoat, too.

 

How nice it is,

To taste all my tears:

They’re running like rivers down;

How nice it is,

To cherish the years,

Their thorny, but golden, crown.

 

The old me would go

And count all I’ve missed,

And curse, and be pissed, and then,

The old me would go

and judge me deficient,

and punish my mortal sin.

 

How nice it is

To feel what I feel,

To hide and to heal, no more;

How nice it is,

To ponder my fate,

To wonder, what lies in store.

 

The old me would be

So pure, yet so wretched,

So strict, yet  progressive, too;

The new me I see

Is so buoyant and free, yet

So flawlessly human, too.

 

Copyright 2021 Andrea LeDew

 

In this month of scandals and harsh criticism of our institutions and leaders, here is a hero-worship poem about New York Governor Andrew Cuomo. I wrote it a year ago, when his reputation was still very much intact: Excelsior.

And another reminder that it (the pandemic I mean) ain’t over till it’s over:  Pretty Please. Pretty please, be safe!

Got my second shot yesterday!!