Dam

If my heart were a reservoir, a lake or an ocean, my mouth would be the worst dam in the world.  Nothing gets filtered, nothing gets held back.  Everything I want to say, I say.  Every.  Thing.

I got in a fight with the moms today.  I was a beezy.  I still am.  I’m not really ashamed.  Should the sky be ashamed of its blueness?  Or the ocean of its vastness?  Or poop of its brownness?  Neither am I.

Here I am.  So imperfect.  And so loved.

Time to say sorry for the waterfall of beeziness.

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