Line in my brow

There's a line there, in the middle of my brow;

Sculpted by worry and doubt and shhhh...shame tsk tsk...

What it is to be who I am; to feel blood and bone and muscle and pulse and no no no censor... a voice so honest there is no knocking about; no bumping and bullying from the picky ones.

They are not here, now.

They are not here, now.

You asked "when do you get to be you?"

In moments.

Moments where time cannot stamp my brow; cannot carve itself anywhere on me, or into me.

If only I could draw the map to the moments.

So everyone would have the legend.

And their true treasure.

Anuk Harvey