Why do we undermine signs?
Like when people say “this means that”
And people roll their eyes like
“Well I guess. If you were looking for it.”

I was.
Looking for it.

I was having a conversation with the universe.  Sometimes it just whispers.

We say we’re

We weren’t listening either
How much of it was maybe just us?

So I listen.

To the moon and
The sun and
The earth and
All the living things

“This is a sign” the universe says. So I leap.
And leap.

And leap.

And sometimes I fall flat on my face.
But I get up and

And sometimes I fly.
Sometimes I play leapfrog.
Sometimes I fall into the ocean

but I know how to swim.

I’m not ashamed of my scars

I let people mark me.
I get affected.
It touches my skin and leaves its skids and tracks.
I get fat. I get thin. I get under eye circles.
I get scarred. I get blue pink purple rainbow. I get taller. I get tattoos.
I live and I die and I survive and I thrive.
I’m not ashamed. I manifest my beauty by what I have lived and how I’ve loved.

It isn’t me, but it’s what I’ve done.

I’m not ashamed of my scars. I’m not ashamed of my body. It’s a vessel machine that has served me well. I allow it to exist without pressuring it to be anything other than what it needs to be, and in return, I keep it as healthy as I can.