I feel like I’m holding a million little Sherees
in my arms and each one with a need to be fulfilled.
I’m lost, not knowing what to do for the best,
who to listen to the first. All are fragile and in pain.
They’re little me’s at different times in my life.
The little puffy afro-ed toddler.
The dreadlocked housewife.
The first school bunchies kind of kid.
The jet black straight haired newborn.
The baldy divorcee.
Mini Sherees all making noise
vying for my attention, craving love
wanting to be seen and healed.
I’m afraid one will slip through my fingers,
or I’ll break the neck of another.
It’s a huge responsibility to carry myself
alone. And not allowing one single Sheree in.