My Favorite Version
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I rise with tear stained eyes and a scratchy throat.
Digging deep for the will to get out of bed and face the day.
Taking an shower and putting on shoes is a Herculean effort,
And I can’t meet my eyes in the mirror.
My favorite version of my self is the heartbroken one.
When I choose my own council over all others.
Prioritizing the routine moments with my children.
Boxed Macaroni and Cheese becomes a necessity rather than a treat.
And I am unsure how I will do it tomorrow.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I can’t find peace or rest at night.
Rocking in the muggy moonlight with no words to even pray.
My dog sleeps all day, unwilling to leave me unattended in the darkness.
And I ponder my existence and what it all is for.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I put one foot in front of the other.
Doing just what needs to be done.
My pulse pounds in my ears and I remind myself to breathe
And I have never been quite so alive.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I take the time to consult my soul.
Noting just where I went wrong this time.
Coming to know myself a little deeper, open to the hard truths.
And all the possibilities are within reach once again.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I am awake to see the sun rise over the pond in the heat and in the cold.
Noticing the wild flowers that I did not see before.
Finding the one I like the best, is all of them, considered by most a weed.
And yet, they grow without an invitation, or care, content to flourish in ditches and cracks, when they are left to just be.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When my thoughts flow out with ease.
Scribble scrabbled on pretty paper, notes, on the back of receipts.
All the words I do not say, finding a way to be shared aloud
And my anxious worry is out matched by anticipation as I meet myself again.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I treasure all the tiny things.
My children’s smiles, hot summer days, a hug from a good friend.
Walking the woods my favorite indulgence no longer feeling alone.
And the tiny prickles that cover my arms now that I am reminded how to breathe.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I face the awful truth about the life I was living.
My desperate unhappiness obvious with time.
The lies I had to tell myself, the cage bars made by me.
And my deepest fear that I wouldn’t ever fight back against my self imposed exile.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When glorious noise fills all the spaces in my broken home.
Screaming, wailing, loud hurt swelling in the space,
Coexisting effortlessly with the laughter and the pranks.
And music finds its way back in to every corner of my world, and I note its very absence should have been the sign.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When nights and days and mornings are spent behind the stove.
The very best humans always gathering at the bar.
Chitter chatter, light and airy and oh so heavy and deep, shared over more than Mac and Cheese
And honestly is the only measure that matters here.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I find me back again.
The cliches all make sense to me as I value the pain I feel.
The beauty in the struggle, the honor in despair.
And I find myself grateful for the pieces shattered on the floor.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I pick though all the rubble, not trying to rebuild.
Discarding what was never mine to hold.
No longer tiptoeing through the eggshells, aggressively stamp stomping as I please.
And as those shells grind to glitter, those sparkles light the way.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I shake off other’s made up rules and replace them with my dreams.
Spinning circles in a crowed room, ignoring all the shoulds.
Making fine adventures of a morning drive to school.
And leaving the door wide open for the air to cool the summer day.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I have the audacity to hope.
To believe I can do it better than anyone before.
Where no is a complete sentence and yeses are said emphatically to all that I would.
And sleepless nights are not tossed and turned, but a dozen enthusiastic projects spread over all the floor.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When my children send me away.
To spend the time amongst themselves or even content to be alone.
Bad memories and trauma becomes the lesson to take out here and there,
And each day adds a tally to successful changes we have made.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I stand strong on my own.
Embracing those things dubbed as flaws in me, when I don’t agree.
My power is in the intense, messy, chaotic depth of the passion I no longer fight
And good or bad, right or wrong, I feel them all the same.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I finally hurt so bad that I’m forced to make a change.
Surveying the wreckage of the self inflicted wounds,
The arrogance of holding to things that do not resonate deep inside,
And the knowledge I’m not special is the biggest relief of all.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I am wholly human and am going to get it wrong.
Over and over and then more than once again.
But the lesson is I wasn’t breaking, merely shedding my too small skin.
And those pieces, the ones smashed to glitter on the floor, they make my path sparkle and shine, just a little more.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I dare to want the big, giant, impossible things I do.
Opening my eyes so very wide, to all the moments I thought to never have.
Knowing I once settled, but never again, not anymore.
And if I just keep going, slow, but never looking back.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I know I have all I’ll ever need.
Comfort is no longer motivation, grudgingly excited, to stay in the in-between.
Collecting other hearts and souls that rise to the challenge,
And becoming all the things I once thought not enough, and now wouldn’t give away.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I let go of all false pride.
The perfection of showcasing exactly what I am.
Finding joy in cinnamon blown out the door, and eating lunch at dawn
And the shimmer sparkle of right energy moving me right along.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When lies no longer are ignored, and it doesn’t have to be that hard.
Mine both by blood or not, kicked viciously off of the complacent path.
Forced to skip decades of malcontent, no longer asked to sacrifice
And the inevitable acceptance of exactly who the are, becomes the standard of every love to come.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When I say hard things or nothing at all,
The tiny bit of external disapproval and discomfort,
Infinitely better than disappointment in myself.
And I seek my own approval above any one else’s at all.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When depression is no longer welcome and anxiety not called a friend.
No longer a frog in the pot, slowly boiling until I die.
Rimble rambling whatever words I choose because I am that intense
And I would rather spend my life happy and alone than bend to anything that is not for me.
My favorite version of myself is the heartbroken one.
When it all starts to fall into place.
The limbo of not quite there, but already gone.
When the best is both happening right now and somewhere down the line.
And my favorite version of myself is the price I paid for an authentic life lived free.
