I stand five foot two,

I stand five foot two,

with a scar here and there.

But oh, that is not me.

Oh no, I am more than that.

I am my love;

Love as I cry on the step because Papa is gone,

but why is he gone when I am so young,

why is he gone forever?

Love in the form of callused hands

and tears in the form of words that fall down on my page.

Love as that cute boy yells those mean words at me,

"This is why no one likes you; this is why you have no friends."

As those words from that cute boy transition from words to bruises,

bruises and welts to make it all the more prominent.

Love as I work with a child,

understanding, listening, caring for.

As the children smile and love swells in my heart.

Love as tears streamed down my face,

saying goodbye and allowing brothers to go off.

As the pain of missing them snags in my mind each day.

I am my love;

and the idea that looking is worth my while.

Looking to understand,

not just to see.

I am my quiet being,

and the word shy.

Most importantly..I am me.