We say, "Happy Birthday!"

like it means something.

Traipsing through sun charts and moon beams

hoping to find some sign

a burning bush

an oasis.

Not that I believe any of it.

Not that I believe anything.

Here's to another year of not knowing.

I spit the word at the screen,

dancing around why I was so very angry.

“She’s older than me,” I said, smirking,

“and fatter, and ugly. So, I’ve got that going.

Look who he has and look who ~I’m~ fucking.”

Crass, yeah? I know. That’s my style.

But for all of that smirk there was little smile.

I suppose that jealous isn’t exactly the feeling.

I don’t want the wares that you are selling

her poor family and herself. It’s true.

I’m actually sad that they have to have you.

Liars are liars. They so rarely change.

I know this because it has been part of my name.

And I know that you’ll do them the same

as you’ve done all the people who have your same name.

That was months ago, I sat on the phone,

telling my friend she just ~had~ to know.

You know what it was? I don’t want to be “Her.”

I don’t mean this new, older girl.

Let me explain. The new guy I’m with came with kids

and those kids have a mom who I’m sure has the wish

to not be “Her,” the other mom, the Wicked Step.

The difference between us two, and his new

is that she and he don’t see his own two

kids. He never calls or tries to be there.

Only when it benefits him does he care,

but never enough to do anything.

So, here, at long last, is what I mean:

I want to be one of two moms

of these kids of my loves’.

I don’t want there to be competition or fear

or judgement. I want the air clear.

I want for those kids what I wish for mine:

that their dad and step-dad could be the same side.

I don’t want to be “Her.”

I don’t want there to be a “Her.”

I

am

beautiful.

That's right.

Hairy, big hips and belly, glasses.

Beautiful.

And I am strong.

Weepy, emotional, intimidated, confused.

You heard me.

And I am worthy.

Sinful, angry, vengeful, jealous.

And you know what?

I care what people think.

I care how they feel.

I care about what happens to them when I am.

And I am here,

right here with you.

I am in this room,

breathing, feeling, being.

I am.

And so are you.

We are!

And, oh!

Aren't we beautiful?

There were far

more

days

than I can count

wishing I could be different.

Casting all my dreams about

and shelving my ambitions.

I'm lost now

in losing myself

and finding a connection

to the All.

No one will ever call me

Mother Of The Year,

and, not that my kids live in fear,

I just haven't gotten into gear

doing what the consensus says

constitutes success.

They ~are~ happy.

From what I can see

~that's~ what the world really needs.

It's painful, you know?

Be miserable

so you can buy

happiness?

Does that make sense?

I didn't think so either.

It's what they tell me,

in not so many words;

what they really say,

pushing all that commerce

down my throat.

I hate to gloat

but I'm better than that.

So are you.

You don't need those brand new shoes.

You won't die

if your hair doesn't shine

or your teeth are out of line

or the car is not that great,

or the house has too little space,

or your horse didn't win the race,

if you couldn't keep the pace

and tick the boxes of the endless list

to be perfect.

I propose

that none of those

could bring you close

to what you already are...

YOU are a star.

No joke. Right from space.

YOU are unending grace.

No need to seek forgiveness for being flawed.

You are just the thing the world needs

when you just ~are.~

The next time you think about all you have to do

and start to fret that you cannot get through,

remember that right now is all that there can ever be.

The world is perfect as it is, and so are you and me.