tomboy style

upon discovery of this blog, i gave a silent little 'whoop!' to myself. i've always naturally embraced tomboy style, but have been told many times of late, that wearing men's clothes does not a feminine woman make. this site is the perfect example of what beautiful, graceful, classy women look like when they wear menswear, or menswear-inspired clothing. there is a certain ease with which these women seem to move that i really admire and appreciate.

Tomboy Style

kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.




Naomi Shihab Nye
from The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems

a little sunshine for your day

the journey

shortly after returning from santa barbara, my auntie val sent me this poem.  i read it daily and reflect upon the conversations i have participated in lately with dear friends about our own individual journeys.  this poem, shared with me by a dear friend, i will share now with you... my dear friends.

the journey

one day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"mend my life!"

each voice cried.

but you didn't stop.

you knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

it was already late

enough and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones,

but little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

--mary oliver

ps... if you are not familiar with her work, i highly recommend becoming acquainted.