Note: I just wanted to share that I went to a Rodeo with my dad today, and we had a lot of fun, however before leaving a man stopped me and made me delete majority of the photos I had taken for today’s compilation. 🙁
I don’t want to burn myself out. Realistically, If I were to write as much as I hope to for 365 days, I know this activity would become a burden and it would affect my attitude and kindness towards this project. This is why I have determined that the weekend posts will be dedicated to photos and photos only, perhaps accompanied by a sentence or two that will help me summarize my days.
Because of the suddenness of this decision, it feels unfair to not write something “of value” today, so to fill this blank page today, I have decided to share a very personal poem I wrote on adoption back in November.
This question of inspiration
I’ve never answered so well,
but no better way to answer this
than with a story to tell.
Once there was a woman
whose name I don’t really know
who perhaps made a bad choice
or had no choice at all.
She gave birth to a kid
for whom she really couldn’t care.
I have heard that perhaps
she had a life with no repair.
Heart (broken) so kind,
led to a big decision,
one that took time, took love,
took all, took a division.
To make sure her very own
had what she couldn’t give,
she gave away her identity
for this kid to fully live.
Once there was a couple
who lost someone once before.
It always broke them to know
they could’ve always given more.
It wasn’t their son they lost,
yet it was someone close to heart.
This kid taught with a cost
that in love, blood plays no part.
Heart (broken) so kind,
they were led to a decision,
and with time, with love and all,
They helped a mom complete her mission.
With purity they embraced
that little kid from before.
They promised no conditions,
and with a smile they swore:
“Our son will grow up blessed,
with a world of love to see.”
So how not to remain inspired
when that little kid is me.
I read this poem often, and it feels like a core part of my identity. If I am to blog truthfully and plentifully, the idea of sharing the deepest parts of me should be nothing but welcomed by my drafts.
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