Samantha

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I dream that the world
will one day be printed and tattooed on the back of my hands,
like watercolours that swirl and mix.
Remind me of nights spent under the stars
Or nights I spent laughing
with a drink in my hand as I tried to understand tongues
I don’t speak.

I debate furiously.
My cheeks flush and I start flourishing my hands, sometimes
I knock things over, laugh it off and keep talking.
I listen intently and respect your ideas;
that doesn’t mean I won’t fight back
if I think you are wrong.
I just really love to have conversations with passion.

I care deeply about those I know
and those I don’t.
I will fly to the tops of mountains
and dance through valleys and fight off the dragons that
go bump in the nights of injustice.
I let hugs speak louder than words.
I will lend you my heart when yours is too worn out to be sewn together again.

I am the “mom” at 19,
I bake bread and cut it while it’s still warm and yeasty.
I will knit you a pair of mittens to warm your hands
or tuck you into bed when you have had too much to drink.
I love to sit inside while it rains and drink tea with milk and sugar,
eat sandwiches with the crust cut off,
creating things out of yarn or else twisting words into poetry.

I breathe deepest underwater.
Submerged and floating, I open my eyes
and see sunlight warped through the layers, I am alive.
I curl my toes into sand, struggle to climb to the top of a lookout,
run my fingers along the ridges of a tree.
I breathe easier in nature.
I feel the Holy Spirit best under the cover of trees, or out on the water in the morning fog

I whisper prayers for the girl with the tired eyes
who pours my coffee in the library
and for my homesick friend adjusting to university.
I sometimes forget to read my bible
or lack the boldness to pray at church.
I choose Jesus,
on the days when life is warm as summer
and on the days I am overwhelmed to the point where my tears
waterfall over my journal pages.
I am a girl, learning how to navigate the streets of a city
and the backroads of life.
Sometimes I panic because everyone I know
wants to work for the UN
or be a lawyer, a doctor, a CEO. I don’t.
I want to advocate for education,
to help farmers in Nepal
to give woman without a voice my own,
a voice that doesn’t just speak but
a voice that sings,
a voice that prays,
a voice that fights,
a voice that does not tremble or question it’s own validity and knowledge.

I hope that one day,
I will understand myself.
That the backs of my hands will be wrinkled with lines
of wisdom and stories told with great enthusiasm.
That the colours of the world painted there will melt together with
stories of triumph, of courage, of adventure and of humility.
I hope they will be hands that served others,
hands that held other hands
and hands that made a difference.
I just really want to make a difference.

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