But it was forming in my mind this evening, so I decided it was important to get down. I have no idea what the purpose of this writing is. Imagine carrying around another one of you all the time. But I am carrying around a whole other human being on my body. I periodically exercise for long periods of time. Better is of course in the eye of the beholder, but there is no denying all the health crap involved in being fat. And most fat people seem to be in some kind of constant struggle or quest to change their identity for a better one. It's a fluid identity, because there are lots of ways to change being fat. I often feel like I am a bad person for being fat, like I did something wrong, and I am getting what I deserve, whatever that may be. I am setting myself up to contract diabetes, my heart and liver and colon are strained far beyond anything they should have to endure, and my joints labor under the extra weight they were never meant to carry. There is stuff my body can't do, or can only do with a great deal of uncomfortableness and strain. But then there is the reality that it is rarely healthy to be fat. On the one hand, thre is the idea that we need to break free of body-image crap and embrace our physical selves for their beauty and blah blah blah. Meh.īeing fat is interesting, because there are several facets to the experience. Everything about me seems gross right now, and I just wanna take it all off. Like I'm carrying around this really heave coat that covers all of me and keeps me from doing things. I prolly gained some weight, which is always positive, but I just feel very gross and icky in my body. There are days when I am just me, and who I am is large, but that is not the focus of my self-perception. But my size in not a preoccupation every day, nor does it seem to color everything I consciously do every week. Now, one could reasonably argue that since I am a fat person, everyday is a fat day and every week is fat week. Timeless and prescient, this definitive compendium will warm the hearts of Maya Angelou’s most ardent admirers as it introduces new readers to the legendary poet, activist, and teacher-a phenomenal woman for the ages.So I'm not diggin' on my physical manifestation too much right now. We prove that we can not only make peace, we can bring it with us.” “We are here at the portal of the world we had wished for This collection also includes the never-before-published poem “Amazement Awaits,” commissioned for the 2008 Olympic Games: Maya Angelou: The Complete Poetry also features her final long-form poems, including “A Brave and Startling Truth,” “Amazing Peace,” “His Day Is Done,” and the honest and endearing Mother: Now the beauty and spirit of those words live on in this new and complete collection of poetry that reflects and honors the writer’s remarkable life.Įvery poetic phrase, every poignant verse can be found within the pages of this sure-to-be-treasured volume-from her reflections on African American life and hardship in the compilation Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ’fore I Diiie (“Though there’s one thing that I cry for / I believe enough to die for / That is every man’s responsibility to man”) to her revolutionary celebrations of womanhood in the poem “Still I Rise” (“Out of the huts of history’s shame / I rise / Up from a past that’s rooted in pain / I rise”) to her “On the Pulse of Morning” tribute at President William Jefferson Clinton’s inauguration (“Lift up your eyes upon / The day breaking for you. Throughout her illustrious career in letters, Maya Angelou gifted, healed, and inspired the world with her words. The beauty and spirit of Maya Angelou’s words live on in this complete collection of poetry. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves. ![]() Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance, fall away. Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink, wizened. Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us. ![]() Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken. Our eyes, briefly, see with a hurtful clarity. When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile. When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil into silence, their senses eroded beyond fear. When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety.
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