Torn

There is a corner of my
heart that is frayed
and tattered.

The top right, I think.

Scarred from the moments
of bold courage, heading out
into the world to empty my 
secrets and love to all.
Snipped by the scissors of
silence and doubt.

My heart is a sea anemone,
flinching back into the cover of darkness. 

And yet.

This is what I have come here
to do.
Release my heart 
through my voice and hands
no matter the vulnerability of
that small child that lives within
who seeks love for the beautiful 
things she has made.

Over and over and again.
Until it is dog-eared from the use of it.
Because I cannot not.

Heart-speaker.

Truth- teller.

Beauty-maker.

Not a job for the faint-hearted.

This week I read The Gift by Mary Oliver¹ once more where she reminds us that though we slow as we age, we must keep our souls steadfast. For me that means honouring the truth of who we are more as every year passes. Because we are all Heart-speakers. Truth-tellers. Beauty-makers. Thank God.

The Gift, available in The Gallery

1. Mary Oliver, "The Gift," in Felicity (New York: Penguin Press, 2015), 45. [1, 2]