I Choose

I Choose

I am not angry anymore
I am putting my guns down
throwing away my cigarettes
so to give life to these flowers
which I’m about to bend down and lace through with my tired fingers

Feeling the stem, feeling the leaves
Feeling the petals, feeling the spring
in the colors, in the scent,
in whispers from collisions between the breeze and
stigma and style in my hands

Let me pick up one after another
as i look out for stones and pebbles along the way
Careful not to overlook or overstep
So i don’t trip over a journey that could take me higher
into Van Gogh’s Field of Poppies or Irises
where the sun could potentially set and melt
into pastels,
brushes and soul
behind strokes
of a manic passion.

Let me go forth and embrace freedom in a boundless canvas
where life exudes like fluid from an overflowing bottle
in between the hands of a lover
flesh against spirit-
a physicality that could shatter instantly
when butterflies stop to flutter and romance loses magic.

I do not forget;
what pain and shame!
Accidents before the blame
and then a cover-up.

But I choose to bathe in sunlight under an endless sky
and I choose to glitter like water
fragile to a certain extent, because my cup is made of glass-
visible, transparent, scratched, lonesome on that bedside table.

Rainbows hustle over, motivated by refraction-
born out of
elements and bonds that give viscosity and flow
to something quintessential,
the beginning of vitality
a substance, not an option:
while molecules continue to slide
and atoms strain and collide
against their vessel occupying my water.

There is no answer to a judgement, an opinion, a decision
but my water is life and my life is water
flowing across all textures, every stone and pebble,
every flower and scent
pressing a fresh seal upon my frontal cortex
that’s been long expecting a paramour;
for her tap of love and life into my being,
for her to light up my chest in bursts of life and fire
I swear
were always there
but lose spirit to the dichotomy
of every
day life sometimes

But some other times I wake and notice a good morning scent;
fresh bread, oolong tea, rain, grass, a lover, orange peels, papa nicolas coffee-
Doesn’t matter, because
this I know-
it is a good day,
a new beginning again.

– Vicky ’12


  1. Costa

    Beautiful. Thank you for sharing Vicky.

  2. Sara Elliott

    Great poem, Vicky. I especially like “feeling the spring in the colors,” “rainbows hustle over,” “There is no answer to a judgment,” and the whole image of the glass on the bedside table. Thanks for sharing yourself and your talents with us.

  3. Debra Dunkle, 1977

    What powerful poem! You’re turning a corner personally
    and graduating. Congratulations on both.
    Debra Dunkle, ’77

  4. Abby Anderson

    Vicky, thanks for sharing a bit of your story in such a powerful way. How wonderful to feel that there is “a new beginning,” to be able to take in the scents around you and enjoy the spring. I’m happy for you.

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