Working on the tai chi set.
I am still here.
Walking on the broken shards of the everyday reality of this life.
You call it broken.
You say, "I'll fix you."
"God will fix you. Cut off your horns. Make you one of us."
Then you look around at everyone and you spit "...broken..." to everyone you see.
If only they would walk or talk or look in your "image"
But who made you God.
The person who's metaphorical "feet" should be bleeding.
Cut to shards.
It's not easy but I'm okay.
I'm not broken.
I'm not lost.
I'm here in the middle of the chaos of the world.
On my back the burden of those who'd use me as a dumpster for their problems with no regard to mine.
My basket is full of those problems.
Very few are mine.
I'm giving them back.
Emptying the sadness into your lap and pouring my kindness on the mess.
Throwing my own troubles into the air.
Food for the seagulls.
Food for the crows.
c ann ford
(All rights to the author. It's not that I mind others downloading it. It's when they don't give me the credit as author that I'm pizzed off.)