#23

the following is an excerpt from a late night journal entry:

“last day of 22 feels. 

I finally know whats it means to be confident and secure in who Chloe Paige is. 

This is my greatest personal victory within myself. 

Mind, body, and spirit, I do not need songs or presents or attention... 

that’s my everyday on this earth really... 

this day is more for me to remember who I am. 

What I believe. 

And check myself, to see if it was my last year, did it matter. 

Never in a woe is me way. 

Never. 

But in a “God, it’s me... the one you told to step away from the fake love and self hate. 

And into your arms. 

Yeah it’s me. 

I’m here to do your will for another year. 

Hope I make less mistakes this time around.” 

It was hard for me to admit that he didn’t need me to be a little girl anymore. 

He needed me to be a woman. 

A woman for other little girls. 

A woman that didn’t leave. 

A woman who loved herself. 

A woman who knew what it felt like to destroy her body in order to feel. 

I hated, I hate.. that I had to share my pixie dust. 

That I had to grow up. 

But I love what has been given to me because of it. 

I sob because I don’t deserve it. 

I weep because I feel all the lives that don’t get to live to 23. 

I celebrate because maybe, while I’m 23, people will see Jesus 365 more days because of me. 

Much like low income indie films with sad endings, I will turn 23 and then the rest of the work week will ensue.

And more birthdays will pass and the sun will rise and fall each day and no one will see the significance I see in this.

I won’t waste 23.”

I could tell you how 22 was different.

Just as I predicted it would be.

I could tell you about the milestones, the thousands of miles traveled.

But this story is more than those that happened on a timeline or in an airplane.

I could tell you about the love I didn't know would impact me like it still does.

No degree, or surprise visit could compare to the acceptance of me.

My heart has been refined.

My eyes no longer shy away from the truth that is 'I'

I owe 22 that much.

Even if it did take almost all of it.

I think I'm ready now.

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. 

Post Card Love Letters

I find it hard to explain you to people

How at any given moment our connection is stronger

Like a homing device, we always find each other

Miles and miles traveled 

Sleepless nights

Early mornings

Countless cups of coffee laced in conversations

New skylines and familiar front porches

Yeah, I have a hard time explaining you to people

How you see me for the first time, every time

You make me brave

Like how sidewalks kiss the bottom of my dirty vans as I trek through dark alleyways,

You also kiss my soul with your billboard wisdom and welcoming signs

You have taught me what desire looks like

What grit and hard work can become from the ground all the way up to the penthouse floor

I miss you, but I must visit others and gain experience from them

Similar to forbidden lovers, distance is part of the process, 

but you are home

There are many "yous"

And only one me

Constantly breaking off pieces of me and scattering them out like bread comes

I inhale you deeply, only choking a bit this time

I never want to close my eyes with you, I fear I will miss just a moment,

and that would be too much

I find it hard to explain the back and forth 

Time differences

Skyscrapers

Freeways

None of them can keep us apart too long,

a few bring us closer together

If I am Peter Pan

You are Neverland

And will will Wander - Lust forever

I hope you are well while I am away

Post card love letters feel silly

but they do the trick

White Flags on a Wednesday

Just realized when I went to reach for my white flag, I had already used it to dress wounds from earlier today. 

Of course.

Of course the first day of November, fresh out of the October season, had to show out. 

With its post Halloween candy comas, full moon vibes, and rain that never let up.

On a Wednesday, of all the days!

Wednesday tried to break us.

Tried to.

On days like today, 

where kids bring guns to school

the fights never seem to end

and you have to ask too many people where kids have been 

because they keep moving or lying about it

when the world is suffering 

loudly

constantly 

and you have a sore throat.

On days like today,

when the visits to safe seem too normal

when the office doors stay shut

when the parents don't know how to set an example

when self doubt and exhaustion come without warning or welcome.

On days like today, 

we take the small victories.

And we cry.

Small victories feel so big in a world of heartache.

And we need them.

Like new faces becoming familiar faces.

Brothers who apologize.

And choose love.

Men in the gym encouraging your boys to work hard, take care of themselves, and save money.

Kids who remind you that your windshield wipers needed to be changed a year ago 

and make the cold and rainy trip to the Auto Parts store with you.

When quiet car rides turn in to venting sessions and somehow

I get to be the one on the other end of them.

my heart is hurting from the battle fought today,

my skin is still cold from standing in the rain, talking kids down from a rough place.

but I already used the white flag to bandage the wounds,

because I know better than to ever throw in the towel on this life.

especially not going to waste a resource on giving up, 

when it could keep me alive for a much greater battle later on.

Deep breath.

Wednesday tried, but didn't win.