Every story I get the privilege of living through

is a stitch in the blanket of my life

every laughter, tragedy, and fear is braided in with swift hands that get more confident as I go

life is a balancing act between “should” and authenticity

flowing and stopping

as the seams that hold my life together began to fray,

I looked at the beauty and the mess I had created with my busy hands

bunched on my lap

One day when I spread its four corners to flow in the wind

I must remember

There may be holes

lopsided edges

some stitches too loose

some too tight

it may have taken longer than others

because my hands began to tremble with anxiety

I may get tired and not stitch at all

but once my blanket is done

and I no longer have the privilege to live through and amongst the world

It’ll be warm

and soft, filled with my creative spirit

imperfect

perfect

and most importantly,

it’ll be mine

and it’ll be beautiful

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