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.