We try to mold ourselves into these frames
But we spill over
And we assume the spillage is what we should toss.
Then I look at what's in the extra
And I see the things that I'm trying to shave off
Are the things that created what sits in this chair.
I realize that some of my wreckage doesn't always appeal to the people around me
But at what point do we stop cutting off our own heels to fit a shoe?
Sometimes I don't do the things that make me happy
Because someone might judge me for it.
Sometimes I walk away when I want to sit down
Because I fear that I may not get back up.
The older I get the more I become aware,
Aware of these unnecessary knots I tie myself into.
The more I understand sometimes you have to let the whales save themselves,
Knowing there will always be that need within me to self sacrifice.
I watch and I observe and I decide.
I shove myself into this vision of what I want to be,
Spilling myself all over the place.
I am a perpetual wet floor sign
And I laugh at the amount of grace I will never have
But I think I'm finally learning to embrace,
Embrace that I will constantly battle myself,
The me I think I am versus this me I want to be
With the me I never will be mocking from the sidelines,
Stewing in the lovely extra that never will quite fit right.
And then I sit back, let myself wash over me.
I file all the negative away.
Then I let them go.
Maybe I just need a bigger frame
Because the leftovers are the most interesting parts of us.
At the end of the day, I'm just a girl who has been in love with writing her entire life. I am full of quirks, anxieties, fears, joys, laughter. And all I have wanted to do was give the world a smile.