Lionhearted

I have the heart of a lion 
but my execution is a whistling teapot.
Lately, I've been out here on a limb.
Bank account low,
not passing all of those tests that life sends our way
to trip us up.
Time sliding slick like snake oil,
wind in my face, 
belly like a blender.
The inside of my head throbbing with drums 
and sharp whistles. 
And then I recall what I had forgotten to remember.

That we  all eat lies when our hearts are hungry.

Again and again,
I must remind myself
that my hands aren't pretty but they are strong.
That yes, my heart has been shattered 
but it has learned how to beat upward into sheer joy.
it's butterfly wings breathing beauty into the sky.

I jot post it notes and leave them in my sock drawer,
in the bathroom mirror,
in the passenger seat of my car.

Yo, sassy…it will be okay,
don't you worry your pretty little head about it
because the last time I checked
You have what it takes.

It's okay to let yourself rest.
Perfection is not required, but bravery is.

You are fierce and free. You are enough.

I know this: sometimes you need to flip life on its head 
until the change comes out of it’s pockets,
that every day is a chance to scratch your dreams onto the canvas of the world,
and sometimes when the wind blows, it brings the kind of change
that is terrifying and must be cracked open with hammers to reveal 
the stardust inside. ​