Design of Self

Once upon a time,

When I was younger,

Much much younger,

And far more stupid,

I’d beg

“Rain down on me

Your designs

Your desires

And I will cobble myself

Into the doll baby

To fit that shape

Because maybe then

I’ll earn your love,”

Until I felt

So lost from my

Island of self

Let alone self-respect

And acceptance 

That I loathed

This caricature of a woman

I’d become.

Maybe it was by becoming a teacher

Of teen girls 

That the light finally


Came on and 

I knew I could not do this

Be this

Any more.

Or maybe 

Reaching the depths

Where a “lover” would propose one moment 

And a mere hour later

Hand me a break up letter

While he sat 

Soaking his crab (sign of Cancer) self

In the two-person tub

We’d just shared

That made me realize 

If I treated my Self 

As Silly Putty

As plastic and mirror to be 

Molded by someone else’s wants, needs, and desires,

Then I’d be easily expendable 

Trash to be thrown away

When the toy no longer interested 

Or when she broke.

I am no toy

No flexible Self

Looking for a man to make me

I am my own

Designer, drafter, molder

Of Self and Life

Destiny and Desire


If I allow you near

If I play with you

Dancing in the glow of our

Combined passions

Be certain baby

That I am all and sundry Me

And though I bend

I won’t break

And I’ll toss you aside

Before I ever let you


Of tossing me away.


Now come over here

And let’s dance.


3 thoughts on “Design of Self

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