She woke up one day alive with fever.
She realized that life was too long to live only to endure it. She was exhausted. She was drained thin by going through motions and routines and endless grinds that lacked any type of fire. She was in a maze coated in dead ends. She ran into walls. She forgot how to dance. She forgot how to fly.
But then she looked up.
There was a whole sky that she forgot existed. She forgot how stunning it was to witness day surrender into night and to rise again was. She forgot that there was more than one way to live. She looked down and remembered that she had a pulse, two hands and two heels and that was enough to know that she was worthy of getting to work.
Writing was her therapy and truth was her religion and she decided to not keep either one in boxes anymore.
She stopped waiting to share her words.
She stopped waiting for Saturday night to wear high heels.
She stopped waiting for permission to wear the pants.
She stopped waiting for her children to be older for her to be her true self.
She stopped waiting for summer to see the ocean.
She stopped waiting for the next new year to make a change.
She stopped waiting for forty.
She stopped waiting to be seen.
She stopped waiting for the perfect body before she would show her skin.
She stopped waiting for the seasons of her life to be in order for her to feel whole.
She stopped waiting for someone to ask her to dance.
She was going to fucking dance anyway.
She wore what she fucking wanted to.
She sang and laughed so fucking loud.
She ordered the fucking french fries if she fucking wanted them.
She spoke her fucking mind.
She stopped fucking apologizing for the weather and the traffic and everything else that she didn’t fucking have anything to do with.
She stopped fucking saying yes when what she meant was no.
She stopped letting fucking fear dictate what she created.
She stopped living by the bullshit rules created by people who didn’t see the real her.
She stopped letting the toxic people into her fucking life boat. It was hers to keep afloat. There was no longer room for anyone who was poking holes in it.
She found the fire inside her veins.
She fell in love with her own beautiful imperfection.
She let go.
She stopped waiting for her life to send her an invitation to be alive in it.
She stopped waiting.
She woke up.
She set herself free.
|Wear your heels. Or your slippers. Stand on your own two feet.|
Let your scars and band-aids show.