Me, the difficult one. Given that title at birth
or maybe I earned it. Either way, I own it.
You’re welcome. I am unapologetic about me
because the dirty paths have taught me not to
be sorry for who I am. So I’m not. Maybe that
sounds cold, but who are you to judge the
temperature of my heart if you’ve never offered
your own to warm these rigid bones? This ever
so complicated puzzle of me; it’s only for the
ones much deeper than language written on the
skin. Bring me the one who’s not afraid to rip
me open, take my heart out, listen closely to
what the butterflies say, and turn it into poetry;
I dare you to love me like that.
Stephanie Bennett-Henry
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