Markera the Woman (Not Set in Stone)

I am unsure as to who she is.  Right down to decorating where we now live.  I realize, I do not know what my style is.  Or rather, I am afraid to decorate.

I have big dreams.  At one point, I was afraid to dream them, write them, breathe life into them.  As life threw its shit at me, as I stood and faced staunchly the fuckery people call trials, as I listened to the whole "God gives the biggest struggles to his best soldiers" spiel, I learned.

What?  That it won't get done if I don't do it.  That if I waited for those I needed, on a lot of them I would still be waiting.  That, if I put myself on the edge to rely on those who swear they will be there, I open up to a risk.

The risk of being disappointed.

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I love me. And though getting to where I need to be is taking sooooo long. I know that I love me.

And in loving me, hard truths had to be said out loud. Moments had to be taken. Acceptance has to be balanced.

I often forget who I am sans kids and boyfriend. I let myself get wholly distracted because to mourn the loss of time to do the things i truly love is overwhelming.

However, no matter what. Writing; the urge, the need, the expressing on paper; it never goes away. I don't view myself as a writer. That is my best friend's 'thing'. She schooled in it, entered competitions, seeks to make it her livelihood. Who the hell am I to attempt such?

Markera. That is who I am. And there is no longer this self convincing, this knee jerk comparing.

I will take the scattered moments and note them. And watch out. I swear like an old bard. That, I have also accepted about me. :)