The Three Faces of Me

Every poem that’s written has an underlying narrative, and inspiration. This particular poem inspired by a rather surreal moment. I was with a very dear friend of mine, she’s one the most beautiful women I know. We were reading after dinner, and I remember my mind had suddenly traveled somewhere else. When I looked up, I saw her face. It was different somehow, like I could see three distinct but similar faces in a single instant. One looked like her as a little girl, the other was the woman sitting in front of me, and the last one looked like her after some years at past, and the wisdom of her age began to show. The one thing all these faces had in common was a stunningly beautiful have eyes, but each face housed eyes whose character changed in time, from innocence to compassion. I hope she doesn’t get too angry that I shared this with the world, but I thought it was worth it, and so is she. So, to one of my very best friends, one of the most beautiful women I know, and the only woman outside my family to actually be able to figure out what lies beneath at the bottom of my soul: my words could never do you justice, even the most skilled painter with the most varied color palette available in the world could never paint a picture that would be as beautiful as the reality. All forms of art, poetry including, tend to paint it to perfect. It is our flaws that make us wonderful, it is our flaws that challenge us, and ultimately… It is our flaws that transform us into living works of art, truly beautiful in our imperfections. So it is in that spirit I share this poem with you all.

The Three Faces of Me

In my reflection I see three faces, and they are all me.
One is the girl I was, the other the woman I am, strong and confident.
The last, is the lady I will eventually be.
They are all me.
The girl who wonders how people see her,
she lies awake at night and wonders who the hell she’s supposed to be
she stands strong in the face of schoolyard ridicule, but it takes every ounce of courage… Every single molecule.
Looking for some sense of identity, she found it in media, her friends, and finally her family.
The woman I am is strong,
the product of many battles won, I have fought hard and long.
I am intelligent, articulate, and connected.
To those who have come before me, those in my past, in me those proud strong ones are resurrected.
I look to the skies, and I see the stars.
And in their brightness, I find hope, the only thing which can heal my deeply rooted scars.
Because in each one, each brilliant light,
I can feel the power of my forebearer’s unbending might.
They remind me to never forget all that they’ve been through.
They tell me in a soft gentle voice,
“All that we’ve been through, all that we’ve done, and although we will continue to do, we do it for you.”
The lady I will be, is like the woman I am.
She will be older, wiser and more compassionate than me now,
but I will know deep down in my soul, that it was because of me that she was able to learn how.
On her face will permanently sit, a loving smile.
She carries with her the wisdom of her years, and the fortitude of one who has conquered her fears.
She carries herself with dignity and grace, she’s a blessings all around her,
she will leave all her guests with two things: food in their belly, and the smile on a chase.
She lives her life by a simple motto, “panza llena, corazon contento.”
These are the faces: the girl I was, the woman I am, and the lady I will be.
These are the three, very beautiful faces of me.

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