Grace

I have thought about writing it permanently on my wrist.  Maybe in red.  “Don’t forget this moment.”  It’s never the pretty ones I want to remember, those always get a photograph.  It’s the ones where my blood is boiling.  The ones where I am on the verge of a scream.  The ones where there is oatmeal all over the floor and someone’s feelings are hurt.  THIS TIME.  Do it differently.  Remember THIS time.  I am too full of mistakes to let half my life go.  We are born a pile of broken bones.  It takes a lifetime to pick them up and stitch their brittleness back together.  Threading them with the acceptance we are not perfect.  I am grateful for the thick resilience of skin.  The way is stretches, morphs, and glistens.  I have to have faith it all counts.  The sleeplessness, the wet beds, the ugly parenting.  The disagreements, the unruly mess, the snarly hair.  These parts of me are beautiful too.  I am trying to allow myself to feel the broken so I can devour the heal.  Know that there will come a time I will do it differently.  A time when I listen only to the small chirping of my heart. 
{honored to have this photo and writing be a part of THE CHORUS - a coming together of women artists' imagery and voice.  follow the link for other writings and photos on 'time'}