It is not the parts but the sum total that makes a life excel. And you are. The whole of you says, I create. I bring into being. The whole of you says you hum with a life that is extraordinary-- full of fight and effort. It does not seem so, but it is true. The words and actions get lost against the judgment we confer upon ourselves. How small we make ourselves. I understand. I identify. I have my own list but i had to tell you anyway.
the girl explores worlds. She holds hands with make-believe. She is not a stranger to the imagination and she is a friend to mystery and maybe vampires. She skips to the end because the journey she takes means something and does not want to be betrayed.
the girl puts pen to paper. Her hands to keys. She has many whirling wild words that are powerful, mightier than a sword on the matter of love, on the matter of pain- life, friendship. She knows about things even gross things like ticks and beautiful things like flutterbies. She sees things in a shimmer and in angles of light unperceived and in the dark places too- she finds. There she is. There we are too. Bring us there. She's doing it now.
the girl has a taste for things and of flavors. Of textures. She creates. She makes things that nourish, bring delight, savory mmms. She twines memory with her hands and imparts the good and true things without saying a word. We all need to be fed. She raptures us from an oven.
she cuts hair.
She is as she goes like the bangle purse, the glasses, the boots—a bit of a badass. She has determined to mold herself into something creative and not necessarily in need of a box.
as she says she must express.
to bring things to life, to add new fragrance and color to her life. She understands about living and the breathing and being of things. Of what it does for the soul and for the spirit. How it redirects the mind to glory, ever optimistic in it - there she attempts it, this simple exploration- tend to it.
of late stepping up her game to capture the transcendence of youth, of her family life, and the sometimes zenith of herself.
she paints walls.
To bring order and mood into alignment. She is not immune to whimsy and the deep need we all have for the color red. She masters it.
she tends to children.
The little barbarians. She is after all a mother and that IS a full-time job. Why deny it?
and catches moments to herself. She watches clouds and flowers and grass. She is attentive to the humming buzzing universe and it's right at the tip of her senses. She loses herself there sometimes. The what ifs, could bes mind talking to soul and God stuff.
a mind that’s sharp and sometimes lies, is cruel to itself but also kind— the path networked at her skin.
she respects the need for rules (while at the same time despising the constructs).
She is Penelope after all- sometimes anxious and rebellious, but mostly a builder of life- she does not like to risk the stability of that simple and yet complex -- paradoxical? fact.
worlds. Wonders relationship. Wonders tension. Wonders God. She vibrates.
takes notes, rolls her eyes. She is not immune. She nods her head in approval too.
she calls bullshit
of life answers, of herself, her children, her husband. We would call this passion. We would call this fight.
and catches what she can.
and expresses when she’s ready.
she has no idea what to do with any of it.
that last one shouldn’t be a talent
but it is
it’s not a boohoo
just a statement –
she’s a pen of many small trades
master of none.
I KNOW, but i need to say still,