I’ve made promises to people and kept them; I’ve also made promises to people and not kept them. I’ve pinky-promised, pinky-swore, and crossed my heart and hoped to die, stuck a needle in my eye (didn’t realize how disturbing that ‘poem’ is until now).
The most important promises I’ve ever made (and kept) have been to myself. I write lists upon lists of promises to myself, of things do, of places to go, of new things to try, of books to read, and of novels to write. I’ve also made promises inside my head (but I ain’t crazayyy) of the woman I want to be, the person I want to become.
Have I kept those promises?
My heart says that I haven’t, not always, and not to the best of my ability. My head says I’m still young and there is plenty of time to change or to stay the same. They both agree that I can become the person I’ve always aspired to be, I just need to put in a little more elbow-grease.
My head and my heart are screaming,
“VANESSA, DON’T MAKE PROMISES YOU DON’T INTEND TO KEEP!”