A Healing Scar
Time won’t ask if you’re ready to mend,
It just moves forward, friend by friend.
Some wounds don’t close, they just grow kind—
A softer scar, a stronger mind.
Time won’t ask if you’re ready to mend,
It just moves forward, friend by friend.
Some wounds don’t close, they just grow kind—
A softer scar, a stronger mind.
what matters most
is having a good soul
don’t let them shatter hope
truth’s like a dagger in your throat
what matters most
is the passion in your soul
making someone else feel less alone
we’re all messes yes i know
what’s all that stressin for
that’s all we ever known
your truest self did you let it grow
or did you just let it go
for some car or some home
for some silver or some gold
the best things in life
can’t be bought or sold
the best things in life
aren’t things at all
cut the strings let it fall
this puppet show
entertain us for follows
make us more vain and hollow
don’t go against the grain
best do what you’re told
if you want some fame
if you want out of that hole
you’ve dug your ditch
you love to bitch
about the actions of others
but how are you taking care
of your sisters and brothers
of this world
you can’t make it fair
but we can make it more
than it is
Where were you
The thing no one tells you
about fulfilling dreams
is not that it is like
hunting mythic creatures;
no, the fact they leave out
is which creature you hunt
and why its difficulties doom you.
Oh, what you would give
to attract another unicorn
in a deep crystal clearing,
yet you find unicorns on the daily
even as the world crushes your own horns
for potions that prick every curiosity.
The dream instead merges and morphs
and flits and flutters
as readily as the morning sun and the clouds,
but the only truth that keeps your dream alive
is not knowing the truth
or not knowing your dream–
or not knowing if you cannot achieve it.
Our farm was only four acres; but it was cross-fenced,
and we had this big, old barn and a fruit orchard,
which fed us and the livestock, too. Sounds idyllic;
but whether it was or wasn’t, we were just surviving.
Every week, without fail, the kids and I went to the
livestock sale barn. We’d pack a lunch and be all
excited just thinking about what we might bring home.
Livestock that we’d would love on and treat with respect,
even though none were thought of as pets.
The meat we received from these animals would be preserved,
either salted, canned, dried, or frozen so we’d have it
come winter. Perhaps some today don’t think about
the origin of food before it gets to the stores, but we knew,
since we raised most of it ourselves out of necessity.
Some animals were resold to create a positive cash flow,
and that was a win-win situation in my book. Our nanny goats
provided us with the cutest little baby goats, plus fresh milk.
And the rabbits gave us lots and lots of baby rabbits,
but since I could neither kill nor eat them, they were sold.
Poco, our woeful Basset Hound had the most beautiful howl,
and it kept away predators and salesmen. The barn cats
caught mice, keeping the feed barrels clean and mouse-free.
We got to eat lamb, veal, duck, beef, pork, and even barbequed
goat, which was delicious. We had a vegetable garden, too.
Since we didn’t own a truck or a trailer, we hauled our animals
in the trunk of the car, but put a tarp on the floor, in case
“somebody” got messy. Hauling animals this way was weird
but also a necessity, so we dubbed our little car, Noah’s Ark.
Though our Ark didn’t save any animals, it surely did save us.
We had a special routine for baby goats, lambs and calves, since they were
tall and had to travel while lying down. We would ease the trunk shut ‘til
it clicked, then bee-line for home, where it was all-hands-on-deck,
getting each animal safely housed, caged, or corralled, not leaving
any alone in the trunk, where they would, for sure, stand up and go pee.
Most of our critters came home this way, including a box of newborn piglets
whose mama had died; scores of bummer calves, with long tongues
searching for a teat (though it seemed any elbow or sleeve would do);
orphaned lambs, with their baaing, and showing off pale pink tongues;
so many mouths to feed, but such fun to watch them romp and play.
And there were the squealing weaner pigs, which made my children
want to cover their ears with both hands, and cute baby goats who
loved tasting shirttails and collars; and liked racing across the yard
with the children when they played tag, and loved most of all
to follow my daughter, probably because of her flying pigtails.
We brought chickens and ducks home inside boxes, too, with covers
on them so none could fly out, though all our birds, including geese
and guineas, had been bought through the local call-in radio show.
And now, I am thrilled to say we finally bought a truck, but I don’t think
I’d ever like to see another livestock auction unless I keep both hands
in my pockets or else take my grandkids along.
Test and re-test
Everything’s within normal range
Let’s test some more
Tough it out there is nothing
We can do but wait
Test and re-test
Everything looks fine
Nothing to worry about
Test and re-test
So many PhD’s and everyone knows more than me
But tells me a whole lot about myself and NOTHING
All at the same time.
Maybe they will figure it out at my autopsy?
I leaned gently into the shape
of the woman I thought I should be—
Steady.
Loyal.
Kind.
Hardworking.
And quiet.
I gave all of myself
to the roles I was handed—
woman,
mother,
worker,
caretaker of everyone’s peace but my own.
I stayed
when I should have run.
Loved
when I was left empty.
Offered grace
when I was met with silence.
I believed that mercy would be enough
to earn gentleness in return.
And somewhere along the way,
I began to disappear—
a soft unraveling,
thread by thread.
Still, I hoped.
That someone might love me
the way I’ve always loved others—
with tenderness, with depth,
with no fear of the messy parts.
I long to be seen
not just for what I give,
but for all that I am—
the flawed, the beautiful,
the tired and the still-dreaming.
I want a life beyond the list.
Beyond the tasks and the timing.
I want joy that lingers,
and love that chooses me
without conditions.
I want to be told
that it’s okay to follow what stirs my soul,
even if it leads me away
from the well-worn path.
That choosing happiness
is not failure,
but faith.
I want the safety I’ve given freely,
the honesty I’ve spoken into silence,
to return to me
in soft echoes.
To be held without fixing.
To be chosen without question.
To grow beside someone
who sees me as I am—
not too much,
never too little.
I’ve glimpsed this life—
the one where I belong
to no one’s expectations
but my own.
And I am learning
that I do not have to break myself
to be worthy of peace.
