Watering the Grass

I recently found out that my being here, in this made up role, is the reason our beautiful blue prints have a lot more scribbled ink on them.

The unfortunate unleashing of who gets what and who wants what.

The battle for me was costly.

And we feel the constant pushing on those bruises daily, but he knew this would be true. 

Maybe not as ugly. 

But He knew.

I wasn't supposed to know.

I was so caught up in a world that had turned rose colored to even see it.

These sort of things don't pass by me easily.

But this one did.

And I cry often.

Months and months went by.

More people told me how great I was or how "we are better now."

I chalked it all up as bullshit because they hadn't met pride face to face like I had before.

Humility is a dream.

And my dreams look more like nightmares these days.

So forgive me when I don't receive your, self demoting, Chloe promoting, 

find God in here somewhere cause it seems right, praises.

Even the good ones must fail in order to learn.

She says the grass looks greener where I stand and I can't seem to prove to anyone that my kids haven't had grassy front yards their whole life.

But we look like more fun.

We look less like work and more like family.

Put us in a picture frame and hang it on your fridge, I would.

We look like all the little children of the world.

You know it. 

The cartoon drawings of the brown, black, yellow, red, purple,

 kids holding hands around a blurry globe.

We are those little children.

And the grass has never been green.

But we choose to water it anyway, because that matters.

I will never be able to unfeel those bruises.

I cannot unsee the battle he went through.

Because just like that grass, I keep watering me, and made up a role that matters.