I don’t know what to call myself.
I don’t know what I am today.
I don’t know who I’ll be tomorrow,
Or what color shirt I’ll wear.
I don’t know what my job will be in 10 days,
2 weeks or 3 years.
I don’t know that I could call December in Los Angeles winter.
Or October in Austin fall.
I don’t know how to be easy with everyone in the room,
Or how to relax on car rides.
I don’t know how many pets I’ll own,
children I’ll adopt,
countries I’ll visit,
books I’ll read, or tears I’ll shed.
I’m okay not knowing.
How to create and imagine.
How to teach and give.
How to speak out and stand up.
I may not bite my tongue,
but I always know how to say I’m sorry.
I will not be enslaved or figured out.
I’m interested in humanity,
In stories and legends.
I believe in ghosts, dark energy and magic,
In healing and possession.
I will always prefer books but
I long to tell the stories of the people.
I’m not interested in money.
In fear or self doubt.
I have no room in my heart for cruelty, killing
I have no need to be ‘right’
But I am interested in truth.
I’m learning to be dangerous,
To play, to allow, to laugh
And to forgive.
I’m learning to jump up and down,
To rush and shout.
I’m exercising my demons,
I’m a woman.
A maiden and priestess.
I’m a child of the winter,
A child of water and earth.
I’m a wild horse in the mountains
and an owl on an evergreen.
I’m a wife, a partner, a best friend
and an advocate.
I am a goat milk maid.
I am a teacher, a coach and a historian.
I am an artist,
But I know that means something different today than it will tomorrow.