So I made a list.

Of all of the names people have called me.
Of all the things of which people have accused me.
Of all the labels that people have tried to pin on me.

And I made another list.

Of all of the songs in wonder of me that people have sung me.
Of all the good things for which people remember me.
Of all the virtues that people have said I hold within me.

And like a deck of cards,
I shuffled these lists.
Correct lies in one hand
Incorrect truths in the other.

I bent the cards up to make the arches like cathedrals
Where those that love me sing my praises.
I bent the cards down to make the depths of hells
Where those that used to love me now sit in polite self-righteous judgment.

The cards came to rest in my hands,
Flat as the world was once thought to be,
These good and bad opinions, perspectives, and feelings
Lying side by side
Layer upon layer
Black and white and red world of Me
Dealt out by others
Whom I have known.

One good opinion
One bad opinion
One good opinion
One bad opinion

And I
The spaces in between.
In no one’s hand.

This is what happens
When you focus on counting the hearts that love you,
Or when you forget that a diamond is only beautiful for its facets.
This is what happens
When you call a spade a spade instead of using it as a tool to help,
Or when you choose clubs over compassion.

Red or black,
Love or hate,
Trust or mistrust,
Flow or grudge.

I am not a card to be collected.
I am the hand shuffling those cards.
I am the person choosing not to play.

(c) Sitara Haye, 2009.

Photo by Taylor’s Wish* (via Flickr).