My Page

I wrote my page 

In a cabin that smelled like girls feet 

Stinky

But still feminine. 

On where I was the only girl 

With three paperbacks in her suitcase 

Because I knew

I wouldn't be doing the talking this weekend. 

They have cast me from their circle.

Slammed their doors in my face.

Yet I find repose 

In the words of Maya 

"I will rise." 

and John 

"Moments are what matters." 

and even in 

Jesus Christ himself 

"You must forgive 70 times 7."

And I wll. 

And I do. 

As my mothers voice echoes from the distant land of conciousness 

I do. 

I forgive.