What a wild, honest, bold thing to be a woman. We’re all tiptoeing inside each other’s stories, hoping we won’t overstep. Scurrying across sentences, leaping over plot lines, hoping that our place in each other’s lives will end in an exclamation point.
Kath Brose talks Poetry, Anxiety, and Her Love for Elderly People
The women I come from
Are made up of freckles and poetry
They wear their skin like a favorite t-shirt
And they do not mistake opinions for mirrors.
We’re always looking for the loopholes to becoming something more, to reaching somewhere new. But what if we just listened to the bold promise that where we are is enough. What if we had one moment of insane bravery and we remained who we are. Right now.
We learn to love each other best when we’re cracked open, when we show up at each other’s houses helpless and aching. When we sit down with each other around a table, mismatching kids of the King, perfectly molded together by mischievous grace. That is how we love.
It takes bravery to be kind, I’m learning. Some days, that bravery is ambitious and big and glittering, but the honest reality is that most days, bravery looks less heroic, it is less like like a red cape and saving the day.