once heard that little girls were made of sugar
and spice and everything nice.
And it’s true.
But they forgot about the butterflies,
And the adventures in golden meadows
To catch them.
They forgot about the trees and the ropes to climb them.
They forgot about the stars and the telescopes to see them.
They forgot about the skyscrapers and the bricks to build them.
They forgot about the pianos and the notes to play them.
They forgot about the jiggles and the breeze to carry them.
They forgot about the broken hearts and the audacity to heal them.
They forgot about the dreams and the courage to seek them.
They forgot about the monsters under the bed.
And the mettle to fight them, beat them
And make them your friends.
They forgot about unexpected thunders and warm parents’
Beds, where little girls run, to protect them.
They forgot about the moments of anger, and the squeaky
Shoes you need to squish them.
They forgot about the awe.
And the wonder.
The whole universe held in a little girl’s hand,
A girl made of shadows and lights,
Like sunrays spreading in a shady forest
At the magic time of twilight.
What are little girls made of?
They are made of life and possibilities.
Of challenges to come and visions to form,
And adventures to follow and smiles and tears.
Of loses and wins. Of boos and cheers.
Of this and more a little girl is made of.
Of hope and love
And the strength of her soul,
Ready to stand tall
And take flight to wherever her song calls,
To create, shape, destroy and rebuild
Her own, brave world.
I can’t say I follow any particular tendency or style. I pretty much let my heart sings and copy the notes into the computer, and then play with the sounds and meanings until I feel the poem, idea or musing have taken their own shape and personality. I am originally from Venezuela and have been in the UK for 14 years. I am a writer, poet, blogger, life coach, interfaith-minister, celebrant, language teacher, Domestic Goddess with an edge, Tarot reader, mother to a girl (light of my eyes), a dog, a Guinea pig and five plants, and wife to the most patient man in the world, who sometimes appears in my poetry. I feel very lucky to be multi-racial: Spanish, Nigerian, Native American, Jewish, Italian, Arabic and Finnish. Somehow I think that influences my eclectic style, which flourishes in almost everything I do, from my writing to my cooking. Like everyone I have had my ups and downs. I have experience domestic violence (first hubby) and ridiculously sweet loving (second hubby). I am immigrant and right now I am witnessing the loss of my country (long story) and yet I have been very much welcomed in the UK and have grown to love it very much. I am bipolar, psychotic, suicidal and suffer from psychosomatic epilepsy, which can make life a challenge at times, and, at others, weirdly fun.
I blog at the Singing Heart