Poetry Friday: Love Letter to my Ugly Sweater

Poem of the Day!

Love letter to my ugly sweater

Today is ugly sweater day,

Thus the entire school is decorated
Like a Charlie brown Christmas tree,
Wilted over with
Clashing colors and wool-knitted covers
With turtle necks,
Makeshift vests,
Tinsel draped across the chest.
 

But I question whether,

Looking at the tag that dangles from my sweater,
Its creator intended it to be
 
Ugly.
 
Someone scraped together
pennies to pursue a dream,
learned the trade of knits and seams
And produced this for me,

It fits me.
 
This sweater is ugly
To many,
But it keeps me warm
And probably did the same for its previous owner,
Who thought it through
And bought it new,
Who wore it proudly until he outgrew it,
Until it lost the beautiful flicker that once caught his eye
And dumped it off for someone else,
To be recycled multiple times.
 
Some think it to be ugly,
But I think it’s perfect,
And that’s the beauty of this world,
 
That we were all made beautiful,
and this truth:
Someone experienced love,
and you're living proof.

Everything is beautiful--
not to everyone--
but all it takes is one
 
And though people may outgrow you
Label you ugly or mark you a failure,
dump you off for someone else,
stamp you with decreased value
 
You are new to somebody
Who would love for you to keep them warm,
Who will think you fit perfectly,
Who will scrape together pennies and love
And whatever else it takes to wear you with pride,
to never outgrow you.

A letter from the uninspired poet, carved into wood

A letter from the uninspired poet, carved into wood

Write not
only when words crash
through your head like waves,
filling your lungs until you cough them
back to surface, still as themselves
but carrying your blood, a piece of your soul.
 
Write not
for admiring fingers
that sway like grass blades
or leeching arms that wave
when you force your breath upon them,
or for the scoffing ears of critics.
 
Write not
only for pain, or love, or to be heard
by selected persons, to be called perfect,
write not to receive mercy from
merciless worlds,
 
but Write always,
tunnel through stutters,
chisel through blockage
with the tip of your pen,
and if you bleed, leave a trail
so they will know how you came
to emerge, covered in proof
that the secret to freedom
is accepting and
overcoming discomfort.

 

 

 

Leaping: the perks of embracing change, risk, and discomfort

This is a concept I've been trying to nail down for a while. Still don't quite have it, but it's a start. In essence, I feel the need to change my surroundings. I want to seek new opportunities and meet new people. I want to hear new sounds and see from new perspectives.

The thing is, we all do. Somewhere inside us we all want to "travel" or "See the world."
The problem is, we convince ourselves that life won't let us.
The reality is, we are the only thing standing in our way.

It is okay to get comfortable and stay where you are, but so few times in our lives does the itch to take a risk grow so strong that we feel the need to change. I have already let a few of those moments pass me by, and I won't let it happen again. It is in those moments we have the greatest chance to land on our feet if we leap, leaving behind any chance of regret.

So, here ya go. I love you for reading.




Love note from a traveler
I led you to a horizon,
an overlook of life-breathing fields
to revive our starved desire,
yet when the Sun’s arms reached for us,
pressed their welcoming palms to our faces
and unlatched the dark doors
of cloudy futures, you resisted
 
the glistening meadows ahead, spoke
worry of risk as I toed the cliff to freedom,
spoke excuses that crept up my back
like the impatient fingers of children
tugging my shirt to leave, return home
to familiar dark rooms and dust and patterned walls
who mimic patterned days,
 
the rows of houses,
squares of cement and scheduled time
to lament invented struggle, to speak hatred
of humdrum, of wishes to be led
to new horizons, unknowing
of my plans to return,
to toe that cliff and wait for westward winds
 
to catch my arms,
outstretched as they are,
to embrace the gift of endless sky
and abandon the hands
tying down my shirtwaist so
I may leap toward freedom and leave
in the dust a reminder of where I once stood.