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

- a coming together of women artists' imagery and voice. follow the link for other writings and photos on 'time'}