Changing His Story
He wore his masculinity so well.
Sexy! He stood as a fine figure – an athlete, a dancer.
His charismatic attraction always making heads turn,
with admiration or surprise at such vibrancy passing by.
Salesmen rubbed hands with delight
as a perfect fit walked into menswear…
Off the rack, modeled as tailored, whenever
he flung back the curtain of a change room.
I wore him with pride on my arm,
instantly made more attractive by his glow.
We exuded the delight of lovers,
showing our devotion and experience of beauty
to anyone who bothered to glance in our direction.
He taught me not to be afraid
of my identity as a woman in the world.
He taught me to enjoy being loved
both in public and in private.
Affection did not need to be hyper-sexualized
or treated as dirty or disgusting.
Rather, he taught me to enjoy being a daughter of God
and the queen of his heart.
As his wife, I ceased to be a girl and became a woman,
not because of what we did in the bedroom,
but because I experienced
the deep respect and encouragement of a generous husband.
He raised me to a higher identity than I had experienced before.
He did not measure my value by what I offered him,
but showed me he was devoted
to being my strongest cheerleader.
He took on the responsibility of dedicating himself
to helping name to be the best I could be.
He blest me.
What could I offer this man who gave me so much?
He was a servant to so many
and one who stirred many pots.
If I could influence one thing
I would say his story continues
in whether or not those who knew him
seek the breadth of life or whether they settle for less.
Less is death, he would say.
Life is the opportunity to expand horizons,
so keep adding to and changing his story.
© A A Koh-Butler, 2020
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