Mid Rise Dark Wash Ripped SkinnyI wrestle my way into a pair of jeans, and the ghost inside slips out. She’s younger by a few years, thinner by a few pounds, lean and strong and sure she knows. She doesn’t know, can’t know how it is that I’m more grateful for this body now than I was for that body then. I am slower. I am softer. I stop to catch my breath. My ghost watches me, wondering, her face gray confusion. I pull the button into place and look back with love.
I adore this! You begin with something seemingly simple - your fondness for cardigans - and take it to such a richly metaphorical place. "Please don't go over my head. Please fold around me. Please hold me but don't contain me" - just beautiful!
I love the two moods of this poem -- the straightforward ode to the cardigan at the beginning, then the shift into tender metaphor & vulnerable requests. Somehow even in the metaphorical part, you're still firmly grounded in your favorite sweater -- AND you give us a whimsical superhero to boot! Really, really nice.
Thank you so much, Rebekah. Another great part of a prompt leading me through a poem--I didn't intend to switch to metaphor at all, but now I can see it too. I literally meant "please don't go over my head", but it can be read as a fear of feeling "less-than", which is definitely a huge issue with me.
What a sweet poem, Margaret! It is high time cardigans got their own poem, celebrated for the ground breaking clothing they were. I did not understand why sweaters were mostly pull over, and I still lately and clumsily take them off. Thank you for this fun and lovely poem!
This is marvelous! I am trying to pick a favorite line or image, and I can't because there are so many good ones, but I will say that "kind of a Bert and Ernie aesthetic" feels particularly delightful for me. Also, as your little sister, this poem gives me sudden new insights into my own super pink, frilly childhood. And your "hiding in the open" makes me think of my teen years, changing into short shorts and a tank top as soon as I got to school but then deliberately wearing them home, hiding nothing, until the No Short Short and Tank Tops rule joined Dress Day in its grave.
I remember entering high school in the sixties with dress code still being girls in dresses and skirts and boys in long pants. One of our first acts of resistance was boys wearing shorts and girls pants and shorts, doing it long enough for it to be too many of us to send home and somewhere the powers realized this was one absurd battle they would not win.
This was a direct hit to my inner kid, who salutes your "little resistance." My little self felt compelled to fight to the death over getting my hair washed and brushed and forced into barrettes. I won *that* skirmish, shorn by age 3. I love this line in particular "I am clutching my worst nightmare/ a pink wad of tucks and frills/what I am supposed to be."
I love this, Rebekah! It reminds me a lot of my younger sister, who loved a certain kind of dress but ABHORRED pink and would gladly tell everyone about how much she loathed it, and who embraced her inner tomboy for quite a while.
What a delightful poem, Rebekah! My sense is that there was so much more pressure on girls than boys to “look” and dress a certain way within defined constructs. Fortunately, your instinct to go your own way, honor your inner you, and take the road less traveled took root!
I love this. My fingers have never learned to obey in the first place, but I still know the happiness of pulling a guitar strap over my head, wearing the body of the guitar against my trunk, and just strumming and crooning away, no matter how it sounds. I love the image of your guitars as battle scarred soldiers.
This is wonderful Chuck. I love the image of your three old friends, leaning at parade rest, waiting to be played again and witnessing to the time gone by.
Oh my goodness, this poem is so delightful! I laughed out loud when I read your enthusiastic "And I could wear my stylish green and yellow Ecology Flag sweater," and the notion of a "monogamous clothing relationship" kept my chuckle going. Thank you for sharing this young, earnest, earth-loving part of yourself in all his splendor. Long live your Ecology Flag sweater!
What a journey you and your ecology flag have been on together, Larry. A long-standing relationship of epic proportions! I cheered aloud when you refused to sell your beloved companion off and declared yourself a non-capitalist!!! I had to look up the flag to make sure I had a visual (is this the one)?
I love the compassion your poem exudes for that ghost inside. It sounds like those jeans now hold the extra weight of greater self-acceptance and wisdom, a wonderful weight to have gained. <3
Here's an ode to my old varsity jacket. I never would have thought to write this, so thank you (always) for your divinely-inspired prompt!
The idea that being held "under the warm wool of belonging" created conditions in which the seeds of your own identity and authenticity could grow is so beautiful and resonates deeply with me. What a beautiful poem!
Thanks so much, Karri. This poem connected me with some appreciation for the things back then that held me steady enough until I could sort through all that lay between me and my actual self.
"A life shrugged off but not forgot" is soo good! You mentioned that my poem took you through a journey of self, and yours does that so beautifully as well.
Kaith, this is lovely and splendid. I had not thought about those letter jackets in so many years, and thank you for the memories your poem evoked and brought back. I love how tender and sweet your poem is, and how it looks back from a present place of awareness and acceptance. I realy admire and am inspired by the depth and breadth of your poems. Thank you.
Thank you very much, Larry. I so appreciate your thoughtful reflections, which always land with such generosity. Those varsity letter jackets are such a piece of Americana for so many of us. Those and class rings, I suppose.
My dad was in the hospital for about six weeks before his death. At the end it was an it could be any day or many days situation. My mom stayed in his room at the VA hospital and I visited daily.
(Edited to add, I put a period in between stanzas to try to differentiate since the spacing never works out)
I love the way you keep returning to black - first as a color that feels natural to you, but then as a symbol for grief . . . but maybe also as a representation for things you and your dad share in common (which probably extend beyond a fondness for black outerwear). I'm so glad that you have this reminder of him!
This is so tender and beautiful, Karri. What a special way to remember a hard and difficult time I suspect. I hope that black leather coat is with you always, just as your father's love is.
A lot of emotion in this one Billy. Nicely done. And as an aside I can relate to the brand name aspiration. I was pretty content t not having to have brand names until Guess jeans. Around 1989 I got one pair for my birthday. I wore them washed them wore them again. For so long!
I love this. I love how you didn't have to say "what i like is" or "I want," it was just somehow contained in the utter relatability of that first line. And then in the second line, you proclaimed your own uniquely you sense of style. Thank you so much for sharing this, Lindsey!
Wonderful poem. I’m pretty ruthless about clearing out my closet but right before the pandemic I got a gorgeous Italian wool coat for Christmas and then we shut down. It was forgotten in the closet for two years. This is a piece of a poem that never really worked but your post made me think of it.
I love this, LeeAnn! "Bounding into my life" sounds so carefree and also conjures pandemic puppies, but then the ending makes me think of the way we all have had to learn to live without certainty (if we hadn't learned it already) and how much need there is to feel held tight. Thank you for sharing your beautiful poem!
I love this poem...but I don't like calling it "a poem..." that understates its power. We need a better word or set of words...an "inspiration for reflection"? Or perhaps the talented wordsmiths reading this can offer something more apt?
So good. As always. I was thinking this week about the passage of time and aging. Each day the difference is imperceptible from the one before but somehow as the days pass it adds up. There is astounding beauty at every age and your poem conveys that to me.
Thank you so much, Billy! It is amazing how the days add up . . . both for me and for my kids. The last few days, I keep looking at my middle son and just feeling shocked by his face. When did he stop looking like a sweet, chubby cheeked little child and become this square jawed thing!?
I just realized I never said anything about your beautiful poem, Lisa, and I just love the way you speak so kindly of this ghost of yourself who couldn't understand the love you now have for your body. I think I have a similar relationship with mine, now.
I feel like I've seen a lot of friends on a similar path - being so hard on their bodies and so critical of them when they were healthy and at their most conventionally beautiful, but then softening and finding kindness toward their bodies only after some diminishment in health or some lessening of supermodel-style beauty. Wouldn't it be nice if we could teach our children to love their bodies from the get go!
Yes! And I'm certainly trying! I know the world will still be there affecting them, but I think it's a good sign that when I tell my daughter she's beautiful, she usually says, "I know."
I love everything about this wonderful and joyful prompt. Your ending is so sweet and serene:
"I pull the button
into place
and look back
with love."
What a beautiful way to look back. I truly love that you included audio, and I now declare that I am signing up for the future podcast I sincerely hope you develop! I'll listen anytime!
Cardigans and cardigans
Before I knew about the band, almost before Taylor Swift was born
I was living in and loving everything in cardigans
first embroidered with sweet flowers and tiny buttons
then longer and looser as my body waxed and waned
and fashions always changed. Never a pull-over sweater.
.
Please don’t go over my head. Please fold around me.
Please hold me but don’t contain me, please keep me warm
while letting the air move against me, billowing backwards
like a cape or a cloak, a super-hero Regency-era woman
a woman who has found her comfort clothing, and takes comfort in it.
I adore this! You begin with something seemingly simple - your fondness for cardigans - and take it to such a richly metaphorical place. "Please don't go over my head. Please fold around me. Please hold me but don't contain me" - just beautiful!
Thank you, Lisa! Your poem really captured me, and I appreciate a great prompt :).
"please fold around me" is such a warmth inducing image. Long live the cardigan!
Thank you, Karri! (and hear, hear!)
The litany of "please" petitions really grabbed me, and I love the superhero imagery, cardigan-as-cape.
Thanks, Keith! That is the pure magic of prompts--I had no idea this poem was coming (or that I was going to say "please" in it until I did).
Wonderful poem & I join you in appreciation of cardigans! The longer and flow-ier the better
Thank you, Lindsey! (I type, wearing a long black cardigan with swoopy sleeves).
I love this ode to cardigans, Margaret. The first half sets it up so nicely and the second half is just wonderful.
Thank you! This was such a fun prompt.
I love the two moods of this poem -- the straightforward ode to the cardigan at the beginning, then the shift into tender metaphor & vulnerable requests. Somehow even in the metaphorical part, you're still firmly grounded in your favorite sweater -- AND you give us a whimsical superhero to boot! Really, really nice.
Thank you so much, Rebekah. Another great part of a prompt leading me through a poem--I didn't intend to switch to metaphor at all, but now I can see it too. I literally meant "please don't go over my head", but it can be read as a fear of feeling "less-than", which is definitely a huge issue with me.
What a sweet poem, Margaret! It is high time cardigans got their own poem, celebrated for the ground breaking clothing they were. I did not understand why sweaters were mostly pull over, and I still lately and clumsily take them off. Thank you for this fun and lovely poem!
Thank you, Larry! Yeah, I have given up on anything but cardigans--I feel like I'm being trapped by pull-overs 😁.
I am in kindergarten,
crouched behind the couch
minutes before school bus pickup.
It is Dress Day, an invention
of my mother’s
meant to deflect
my advancing tomboy.
I am wearing my favorite shirt:
white with green and orange stripes,
kind of a Bert and Ernie aesthetic.
I am clutching my worst nightmare:
a pink wad of tucks and frills,
what I am supposed to be.
.
I don’t recall who won that skirmish
but my little resistance
still thrills me.
If I’m honest I was hiding in the open,
wanting her to see.
Dress Day died young.
This is marvelous! I am trying to pick a favorite line or image, and I can't because there are so many good ones, but I will say that "kind of a Bert and Ernie aesthetic" feels particularly delightful for me. Also, as your little sister, this poem gives me sudden new insights into my own super pink, frilly childhood. And your "hiding in the open" makes me think of my teen years, changing into short shorts and a tank top as soon as I got to school but then deliberately wearing them home, hiding nothing, until the No Short Short and Tank Tops rule joined Dress Day in its grave.
I remember entering high school in the sixties with dress code still being girls in dresses and skirts and boys in long pants. One of our first acts of resistance was boys wearing shorts and girls pants and shorts, doing it long enough for it to be too many of us to send home and somewhere the powers realized this was one absurd battle they would not win.
Very cool! I love this, and it bring back so many sweet feelings and colorful images…
So much for Dress Day - I smiled broadly at the image of your resistance and your delight in the memory of such!
This was a direct hit to my inner kid, who salutes your "little resistance." My little self felt compelled to fight to the death over getting my hair washed and brushed and forced into barrettes. I won *that* skirmish, shorn by age 3. I love this line in particular "I am clutching my worst nightmare/ a pink wad of tucks and frills/what I am supposed to be."
I love this, Rebekah! It reminds me a lot of my younger sister, who loved a certain kind of dress but ABHORRED pink and would gladly tell everyone about how much she loathed it, and who embraced her inner tomboy for quite a while.
Wonderful.
What a delightful poem, Rebekah! My sense is that there was so much more pressure on girls than boys to “look” and dress a certain way within defined constructs. Fortunately, your instinct to go your own way, honor your inner you, and take the road less traveled took root!
In my closet lies
a floor-length velvet dress
the colour of rust
that I wore into the forest
to capture,
with photographic evidence,
my second baby bump.
.
I didn't know
when I put it on
and waddled into the woods
that I would inadvertently
pee down the back of it
as I squatted
to the side of a park path,
bladder bursting
under the weight
of my bouncing baby boy.
.
I didn't know
that it might be
the last I would need
of such dresses,
nor that I might become
okay with that.
.
He may be
my final baby,
but he is not
my last
bundle of joy.
I love that you manage to bring such physicality, humanness, and tenderness to this poem, all with a really gentle, matter-of-fact tone. Beautiful!
Sweet memory of a special garment. And who among us has not had a pee in the woods mishap (regardless of pregnancy!)
So lovely.
I love how, through this rust velvet gown, you take us to such a deep place of your journey with self. Just beautiful.
I truly love this, A. It has a realness, a sweetness and a hopefulness that underleis each word and line. The ending is just delightful:
"He may be
my final baby,
but he is not
my last
bundle of joy."
An affirmation of that Shakespearan proverb: "a Rose in any other garment is still a rose."
there's the strat
with its broken case clasp
and missing E string.
the taylor
with its shredded handle
and dead battery.
and the '75 fender precision bass, my oldest,
with its "r" broken off
in some crazy-ass bar fight
a long long time ago.
My three battle scarred,
power chord soldiers
lean at parade rest
in the corner of the guest room.
Even though they know
my gnarled-up, disobedient fingers can no longer find their ways home,
they wait patiently.
Like good soldiers do.
Thank you for your service.
I love this. My fingers have never learned to obey in the first place, but I still know the happiness of pulling a guitar strap over my head, wearing the body of the guitar against my trunk, and just strumming and crooning away, no matter how it sounds. I love the image of your guitars as battle scarred soldiers.
strumming and crooning 🙂
Loved this Chuck. As a musician and veteran this one I could really relate to.
It's a rare combo, excellent that u can relate. Maybe elvis.
And hendrix, forgot about him, but he wasn't a very good soldier.
love the metaphors, Chuck.
Powerful visual and bittersweet salute to what must be well loved instruments. Nicely done.
This is wonderful Chuck. I love the image of your three old friends, leaning at parade rest, waiting to be played again and witnessing to the time gone by.
What an inspiring rush of poems! This is an ode to my long beloved Ecology Flag sweater.
.
That first Earth Day the world exploded,
a time of music, sweet dancing, blooms and blossoms,
speeches I have long forgotten and
a deep belief and hope for a world where Earth was sacred.
And I could wear my stylish green and yellow Ecology Flag sweater!
.
We have traveled a long way together since that day in 1970.
I glimpsed you on the rack, whispered to the clerk to hold you,
biked home and collected my abundant wealth
from lawn mowing, window washing and scorekeeping.
Liberation, making my first independent clothes purchase;
I was convinced there would be many of us,
clad in this iconic symbol of burgeoning awarenesses.
Somehow you did not seem to connect with anyone else.
monogamous clothing relationship insuring unwelcome snickers and stares.
.
My father was convinced it was an early sign of a ruined life,
sinister communist and socialist leanings, and extremist viewpoints.
offering to buy it from me plus 10% so it could vanish forever.
I could not sell you, faithful off beat fabric and pattern,
and I never was a capitalist.
.
Over the years I wore you less and less,
and now you only make appearances on St. Patrick’s and Earth Days
before going to rest again in our cedar chest.
You’ve earned that.
.
Though you have shrunk and gotten smaller over the years,
Or, as my family flatly declares, I’ve gotten bigger,
you still shine and glimmer to me.
Various beloveds have tried to smuggle you
to thrift shops, yard sales and flea markets,
a. clothing intervention with pleas for release
Each time I rescue you, feign outrage and hide you in another place,
our commitment to each other an ironclad bond.
.
When that day comes and the train calls to take me home,
I’ll be sure you are provided for,
a safe, warm, caring home where all you need to be
is a reminder of the dreams we gathered to see.
Oh my goodness, this poem is so delightful! I laughed out loud when I read your enthusiastic "And I could wear my stylish green and yellow Ecology Flag sweater," and the notion of a "monogamous clothing relationship" kept my chuckle going. Thank you for sharing this young, earnest, earth-loving part of yourself in all his splendor. Long live your Ecology Flag sweater!
Thank you Lisa, and thank you for your ingenious prompts!
What a journey you and your ecology flag have been on together, Larry. A long-standing relationship of epic proportions! I cheered aloud when you refused to sell your beloved companion off and declared yourself a non-capitalist!!! I had to look up the flag to make sure I had a visual (is this the one)?
https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.teepublic.com%2Fpin%2F8135104-original-earth-day-flag&psig=AOvVaw16dNMOKKz_5u0jrZ_SKfPN&ust=1715021615276000&source=images&cd=vfe&opi=89978449&ved=0CBIQjRxqFwoTCPi6-8WX94UDFQAAAAAdAAAAABAE
Keith, that is it in pin form!
very cool, Larry :))
I love this, Larry! And I really want to see a pic of you in your sweater -- maybe a montage of pics from the last 50 years!
I’ll send you a pic! A montage is a great idea but I’d have to go on an archeological expedition to find them!
I love this: "Each time I rescue you, feign outrage and hide you in another place"
Thank you Margaret!
What a lovely description of your precious sweater!! I’m so glad it has survived all the attempts of bribery, sale and donation!
Thank you Karri! Me too!
This is such a sweet tribute to a such a special clothing item.
If I could, I’d post a photo of the vintage wonder!
I was wishing for exactly that!!!!
You'll have to include it in a note or your newsletter sometime! (If it's a note, please tag me so I don't miss it).
Please tag me, too, Larry! I don't want to miss that either.
Thank you for the tips! And thank you for the tip about a period between stanzas!!
I'm sure I'm not the first to have done it, but necessity is the mother of invention, right?
For sure!
I love the compassion your poem exudes for that ghost inside. It sounds like those jeans now hold the extra weight of greater self-acceptance and wisdom, a wonderful weight to have gained. <3
Here's an ode to my old varsity jacket. I never would have thought to write this, so thank you (always) for your divinely-inspired prompt!
*
When I shrugged you off
that final time in 1988,
did I say goodbye?
Thank you for your service?
I fear it too little, too late,
but here it is.
What you did, old friend
went way beyond basic
body temperature regulation
or ordinary elemental protection.
What you did was incubate
seeds of identity, small and withered,
under the warm wool of belonging.
With white and navy conformity,
you camouflaged fragility and
its accomplice, secrecy.
It was an heroic act of enormity, truly.
What you did preserved enough of me
that some 30 years later, when
conditions coalesced in full maturity,
I managed to hatch that exiled identity
into the bracing light of truth.
Over the years, you’ve lain in repose,
my varsity-cum-life-jacket,
enshrouded in yellowing sleeve
next to the twin jelly jars holding
what remains of mom and dad and
a few childhood mementos that have,
like you, made the cut into
the varsity hall of fame for
a life shrugged off
but not forgot.
The idea that being held "under the warm wool of belonging" created conditions in which the seeds of your own identity and authenticity could grow is so beautiful and resonates deeply with me. What a beautiful poem!
Thank you, friend <3
The rhythm and rhyme in this piece is absolutely dynamic. And so glad that those seeds of identity have germinated and flourished.
Thanks so much, Karri. This poem connected me with some appreciation for the things back then that held me steady enough until I could sort through all that lay between me and my actual self.
"A life shrugged off but not forgot" is soo good! You mentioned that my poem took you through a journey of self, and yours does that so beautifully as well.
Thank you, A. - so glad you took the journey with me :)
Kaith, this is lovely and splendid. I had not thought about those letter jackets in so many years, and thank you for the memories your poem evoked and brought back. I love how tender and sweet your poem is, and how it looks back from a present place of awareness and acceptance. I realy admire and am inspired by the depth and breadth of your poems. Thank you.
Thank you very much, Larry. I so appreciate your thoughtful reflections, which always land with such generosity. Those varsity letter jackets are such a piece of Americana for so many of us. Those and class rings, I suppose.
Class rings! Now there is a search for a lost artifact!
My dad was in the hospital for about six weeks before his death. At the end it was an it could be any day or many days situation. My mom stayed in his room at the VA hospital and I visited daily.
(Edited to add, I put a period in between stanzas to try to differentiate since the spacing never works out)
I always wear black
So the fact
I bought an ebony cardigan
On the way to the hospital
Can't be seen as a portent.
.
I got the phone call
Within sight
Of the upcoming exit sign
Saturday traffic jam
Took me longer than usual.
.
And I wanted to be there
But time wasn't on my side
By the time I got to your room
Nothing left to do but cry.
.
Late February day
Cold and gray
Needed more than that cardigan
For the walk to the graveside
The little I remember.
.
I wore your leather coat
It was black
I grabbed it as an afterthought
As we left for the funeral
But it sure came in handy.
.
And it's still in my closet
I put it on from time to time
A black leather reminder
Of the love you left behind.
I love the way you keep returning to black - first as a color that feels natural to you, but then as a symbol for grief . . . but maybe also as a representation for things you and your dad share in common (which probably extend beyond a fondness for black outerwear). I'm so glad that you have this reminder of him!
The black and gray tones amplify the emotion of the scenes you're painting here. Super poignant, Karri.
Beautiful!
Karri, this is so beautifully tender.
This is so tender and beautiful, Karri. What a special way to remember a hard and difficult time I suspect. I hope that black leather coat is with you always, just as your father's love is.
https://open.substack.com/pub/billy2r6q7/p/j-crew?r=1nyjrs&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
A lot of emotion in this one Billy. Nicely done. And as an aside I can relate to the brand name aspiration. I was pretty content t not having to have brand names until Guess jeans. Around 1989 I got one pair for my birthday. I wore them washed them wore them again. For so long!
Appreciate your comments Karri!
This was great, Billy. So evocative, and I really relate to the way in which an item of clothing "fastens" one to a sense of belonging.
Thanks for reading and commenting Keith!
A swim suit that fits,
Long shorts and a high-neck crop.
Bikinis be damned.
I love this. I love how you didn't have to say "what i like is" or "I want," it was just somehow contained in the utter relatability of that first line. And then in the second line, you proclaimed your own uniquely you sense of style. Thank you so much for sharing this, Lindsey!
Love this haiku <3
Wonderful poem. I’m pretty ruthless about clearing out my closet but right before the pandemic I got a gorgeous Italian wool coat for Christmas and then we shut down. It was forgotten in the closet for two years. This is a piece of a poem that never really worked but your post made me think of it.
The gold Italian wool coat that came
bounding into my life, so hopeful,
a year ago last Christmas
worn once or twice then forgotten
in lockdown. As soon as I can
dress up, I’ll wear you again I say,
reassurances I want myself.
I’ll wrap you around my body.
We’ll hold each other tight.
I love this, LeeAnn! "Bounding into my life" sounds so carefree and also conjures pandemic puppies, but then the ending makes me think of the way we all have had to learn to live without certainty (if we hadn't learned it already) and how much need there is to feel held tight. Thank you for sharing your beautiful poem!
Thanks so much. Maybe there is more to this poem than I thought.
I love this.
The idea of you and your coat holding each other tight is lovely and poignant.
This is so good, LeeAnn! Here's to wearing that coat in its full splendor!
I love wearing it!
Also, loved your ghost 🩶
I love this poem...but I don't like calling it "a poem..." that understates its power. We need a better word or set of words...an "inspiration for reflection"? Or perhaps the talented wordsmiths reading this can offer something more apt?
Thank you, Daddy! ❤️To me, poems can be incredibly powerful things, so it feels like an honor just to have it called that!
I loved the recording as well. Beautiful voice. Adds so much.
Thanks so much, Billy! I appreciate the feedback. It was easy to do, so maybe I'll make a habit of it.
I love the voice over as well! It was a happy surprise for today.
Please do!
"Closet packed full of poems"
nice.
So good. As always. I was thinking this week about the passage of time and aging. Each day the difference is imperceptible from the one before but somehow as the days pass it adds up. There is astounding beauty at every age and your poem conveys that to me.
Thank you so much, Billy! It is amazing how the days add up . . . both for me and for my kids. The last few days, I keep looking at my middle son and just feeling shocked by his face. When did he stop looking like a sweet, chubby cheeked little child and become this square jawed thing!?
I just realized I never said anything about your beautiful poem, Lisa, and I just love the way you speak so kindly of this ghost of yourself who couldn't understand the love you now have for your body. I think I have a similar relationship with mine, now.
I feel like I've seen a lot of friends on a similar path - being so hard on their bodies and so critical of them when they were healthy and at their most conventionally beautiful, but then softening and finding kindness toward their bodies only after some diminishment in health or some lessening of supermodel-style beauty. Wouldn't it be nice if we could teach our children to love their bodies from the get go!
Yes! And I'm certainly trying! I know the world will still be there affecting them, but I think it's a good sign that when I tell my daughter she's beautiful, she usually says, "I know."
That is SUCH a good sign and makes my heart smile!
Mine too! 🧡
I love everything about this wonderful and joyful prompt. Your ending is so sweet and serene:
"I pull the button
into place
and look back
with love."
What a beautiful way to look back. I truly love that you included audio, and I now declare that I am signing up for the future podcast I sincerely hope you develop! I'll listen anytime!
Haha, thank you so much, Larry!