seeing you happy makes me happy– regardless of where you’re rooted.
seeing you happy makes me happy– regardless of where you’re rooted.
I get lost sometimes in my love for you– it’s good to find my way out.
every moment I spend in your presence, makes me more capable.
the stories i tell myself– though elegantly crafted, are not true.
acknowledge what it is that is truly sacred in a ritual.
sometimes myself i find, playing a waiting game, dictated by you.
words are not always given form… but constantly echo through my mind.
you hold a mirror up to me that no one else has helped me to see.
insecurities are rooted in a place that rarely sees the light.
I never read the rules for mothering it seems I was absent that day– perhaps all of us were. Carrying around the textbook burden of guilt, the weight of which mocks our shortcomings and reveals the all-too constant truth that we’re just winging it. Each new day, another brave face– scooping up the pieces …
the edges of myself 