My heart feels heard by no one...
except myself...
If I chose to listen.
My lungs they breath...
even when its hard to breath...
And when no one even knew.
My hands create...
whatever I would have them...
And my demands of them are great.
My mind is always judging...
always with "should" and "ought" ...
As elders before me taught.
My home is filled with surprises...
some good, some not so good...
But who is counting?
My life is a story book...
some tales have morals...
And some are just part of something to tell.
When I feel lost...
Sometimes I look here...
Sometimes there....
Always searching for what?
All is what it is...
and as it should be...
and that's enough.
~Mandy, 1991
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