They are my woobies.
My baby blankets,
my favorite stuffed animals,
my lovies,
my pacifiers,
my protectors,
my good night songs and
my good luck charms.
I don't know when
what I am supposed to be for them
became
what they are for me.
I don't know when
their spirits started
filling the cracks that were
in my own.
When “she's beautiful”
became
“I'm beautiful.”
When “he's brilliant”
became
“I'm brilliant.”
I don't think
it's good or fair or right
to use their lives
as caulking for my own.
But, what do you do when
their life's spirit
is the most beautifully brilliant piece
of work you've ever created?
You give it to the world.
They are them.
I am me.
Each life unique.
Each its own.
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