The mess
I don’t have long legs, long arms, or long fingers. I am wider, shorter, more condensed than most- than most of those around me. Who walk tall and high, slender and graceful, always prepared for a picture (the kind I usually take). I wear my hair the way it falls, my makeup isn’t daring, my clothes are there to cover me up. To be honest, I just stopped caring. To keep up with it all would be a drag. I lack the motivation. To look presentable, to make myself known, to open up and let others in, to listen intently and learn from the best, to check myself “where am I at?”, to listen and love and "be who you are, and remember that Jesus loves you". How do they do it? Keep it together? Keep their mascara from running? I’m lucky if I can breathe, stay inside, remain in my seat instead of running. So, simple as I am right now, short and awkward and weird. It’s the only way I can stay in this town. Til the mess that I am is healed.