"I'm sorry" were the words my lips
learned like my own name.
"I'm sorry, God, I let you down.
I'm trash but for your grace."

Now, years (and tears) away,
my partner frowns and says, "For what?"
when those words fall from my lips--
and I recall: I'm worthy of love.

In the notebook

The river does not ask the sky,
   "Am I good enough?"

It simply flows along its course,
   sometimes mighty,
   sometimes low,

but always it is 
   something true
   and wondrous--

as are you.

In the notebook

The me in my head
  was awkward, odd,
inferior to others,
  and a wretch to God.

Now when I look
   at those photos, I see
someone loveable
   who was me.

In the notebook

My to-do list is not:
   a promise
   a contract
   a slave master
   an assignment for a grade
   or a god.

My to-do list is just:
   a memory aid
   of things I want 
   and need to do
   when I can.

My to-do list is like:
   a wishlist for Santa
   a bingo card
   a handful of tossed wildflower seeds
   or lottery numbers to play.

Life doesn't care
   about my plans;
I'll get what I get today--
   that's all.

But I can care
   about my wellbeing
and do what I can today--
   that's all.

In the notebook

                    I   try   to   be   
       strong   like   a   great   oak
           but  the   winds   of   life
  (the   work   to   do,   the   mouths   
      to   feed,   need    after    need,
 and   everywhere   so    much   suffering)
       would    push    and    pull    me
                     till    I    break   
                          unless 
                          I  stay
                        connected 
                          tightly
                          to   the 
                          unseen
                      underground
                           center 
                    of my lifeforce--
my real experience in each present moment,
                       my  feelings,    
               thoughts,  and   needs,    
             as   they    are,   not   as  
               I    wish    them   to   be,      
         relating  to  them  with  kindness--     
        for    what's    underground   is   what     
      matters    most--   what   keeps   me    
standing    strong,    whatever   winds   come.

In the notebook

What my mind
thinks it will find
is what it will look for--

and what it seeks
is what it will see,
confirming more and more

a sense of doom 
or sense of boon,
depending on my gaze.

Please may I learn 
to steer and turn
my mind in healthful ways.

In the notebook

Sweet acorn, you fell from a twisted oak,
  and now you're growing tall--
but you worry you're not doing it well enough;
  you fret over every flaw.

Yet here you are, standing on your own,
  growing ring by ring,
and sheltering little creatures--
  you look magical to me.

In the notebook

My little mind thinks
  it's the manager of life,
like my cat thinks
  he's my king.

We're both just creatures,
  having feelings
and chasing
  bits of string.

In the notebook

I sit here in my office,
with my notebook and some tea,
working, tired, busy--
but across the globe from me,

lives have just been shattered.
Yet here I sit, so safe,
with only my heart breaking.
This world's a baffling place.

In the notebook

I'm forty, and I'm thinking
  that my four-year-old has it right:
she's always got a little toy
  in her hand, clutched tight,
or in her pocket, where she knows
  she has a piece of joy,
safe and close. She's teaching me
  to carry my own "toy."

In the notebook

(There’s a lot more I have to say about this than I have time to right now, but this is a start, at least!)

"On it!" was my default mode--
   perform, appease, endure, 
      somehow.
May I just be "in it"--
   in the acuteness
      of my experience right now.

In the notebook

My car may be muddy;
  my house may be messy;
I may be forgetful,
  tardy, and busy;

despite all my reading,
  I can be naiive;
and I get overwhelmed,
  for my heart's on my sleeve--

but it is full of love--
  that I can say--
and I'm doing my best
  in this strange world each day.

In the notebook

"Stay in our bubble; 
  there are monsters outside."

So I did, and with all 
  of my heart, I tried--

until finally, 
  I just couldn't breathe.

So I went out…

  and I was free.

No monsters here;
  just fresh air.

The monstrous place
  was the one back there.

In the notebook

You're the Peeta to my Katniss.
We're Hermione and Ron.
You're the Kristoff to my Anna.
We're Arwen and Aragorn.

Both heroes in our own right,
with gifts and struggles each,
we join our paths for joy and love
with every realm we reach.

In the notebook

May your sun rise 
  on easier times,
    your dark clouds 
      fade to blue--
compassion to you 
  who hold so much
    with no one 
      holding you.

In the notebook

some simple words to help me learn this concept…because I didn’t learn it growing up

My trust is a treasure
  (I finally see),
    not to give
      but guard.

I'll gladly share it--
  but only when
    I deem it safe
      from harm.

In the notebook

No, it's not perfect, 
  but it's my best-guess
    best option, 
until 
  there's a clear 
    better one.

So I take it, 
  like a torch, 
    to brandish at shadows
of self-doubt, 
  fear, 
    and control-delusion.

In the notebook

This life did not come with a map
   (they gave me one;
   it turned out wrong)--
so I have to make it up,
updating it as I go,
sometimes just throwing 
it out and starting fresh.
With time and courage, less
and less my map leads
   me into pits; 
more and more to what I need,
   to what fits
for this life
to feel like mine.

In the notebook

It literally does not matter
what anyone else may think
about the story of your life.
Don't write it with their ink.

In the notebook

Maybe I don't even know
what strength my power pack holds within--
I'm accustomed to it running low
from letting everyone else plug in.

In the notebook