This Thanksgiving what I am most thankful for is this moment right here. Moments like this nothing compares to; not my dear mother, my tumultuous life trying to convince my father I am worthy of his love, not my wonderful cousins whom I love more than life itself, not my one and only grandmother whose spirit is lying without worry in the clouds, not my childhood memories that I cherish with each and every breath I take, and not my knight in shining armor; my humble fiance. This, the way words make my body feel potent, warm, frigid, sad, in love and obsessed with having to endure cataclysmic events that leave me torn and forlorn for the rest of my days here on earth. This; the way poetry makes me yearn to crawl back inside my mother's womb for the chance to be birthed into someone with talent that could never be touched. This; the way poetry and music remind me that no matter the pain, the hardship, the smiles, the years of lost happiness and the years my heart will continue to spend trembling over the loss of my past, I am still here. This; the way everything I am not, everything I wish I was, everything I am, and everything I have yet to become becomes the amalgamation which wholeheartedly mirrors the exact person I am, but without a name, without a definition, without an image, without any identification except for a speechless face in awe of the world of art and writing that resides before me, and the hairs on my arm that stand up and speak for me as the chills run down the small of my back trying to explain how much I wish - I wish they could understand that it; that poetry; that each time a line is written I realize that I am alive and each time it is read, I refuse to feel anything more or less than life in its one most pure form.
I live to endure the exquisite feeling of paralysis by the truths that others fear; The truth in ways only poets have the fearless tenacity and power to express.