Again, it says.
Too much. Again.
Did I do that? Or was it done?
I’m not practiced in talking about it. Sometimes, my body rebels. Or breaks down. Or screams. Sometimes, it flares into stinging and aches, walking oddly and thinking foggy.
So the seeds sit unsown. The plans lapse unknown. And I try and practice sharing that I’m human, and no, I won’t be eating that, running there, wearing those, or brimming with the patience and clarity we are both accustomed to.
Instead, here’s me.
That’s hard, for me, to be.
plumdirt 
Not being practiced often allows for a kind of freedom to sigh, or scream, or sing–sometimes all at once.
I read the words again in the picture. Apart, they speak for themselves strongly, evoking questions and answers. But they converse together too.
A special piece. Save it somewhere. I am. It’s all of us, sooner or later, perhaps more often than not — if only we are lucky enough to see. Or be blessed.
I always appreciate your comments. Thank you for sharing yourself here 🙂
We have to learn and accept that we are as we are. 😘
I feel as though I’m unearthing who I am, so as to learn it. I’m not sure if acceptance will be a given, but it feels like it will be, once this work of learning is through.