For my prayers

“You're going to feel like hell if you wake up someday and you never wrote the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart: your stories, memories, visions and songs, your truth, your version of things -- in your own voice. That's really all you have to offer us, and that's also why you were born.” Anne Lamott 

Sometimes a good story will remind you of who you want to be
I heard that recently and I believe it’s true 
Who was I as a child?
Who am I now?
How similar is the me of today, to the kid from before?
There are things I didn’t see in myself when I was young
Ways of being that didn’t feel true
When I was little, there was a lady in town who had been a model, decades earlier 
She got an agent for me and taught me what she knew
I did some jobs but I never saw myself as a model
So, by high school I wasn’t 
I never saw myself as a mother
I couldn’t fathom the sacrifice and screaming 
I knew I’d never be as good as my mom was
So I didn’t become one
I did always think that I’d be an artist 
I don’t think I ever thought of what medium 
I just liked the way it felt, when I thought it
It was a wish I held inside
I’ve tried my hand at painting and pottery 
Praying that something would spark that dormant desire
It helped me pass time but no inner Picasso emerged 
When I got sick 
I did see myself getting better
I knew that somehow, someway 
I would walk again 
And I did
I had a very clear vision and my prayers were fervent 
Now, I’m trying to see myself as a writer 
A real one, published and known 
It feels good to write these each week
The words do tug at the sleeves of my heart
I want my stories and memories to help
Someone who’s feeling lost and frustrated 
Someone who’s suffering to know it will stop
It’s all I have to offer
For my prayers, I ask to be filled
For my prayers, I ask to be used
And to be the version of me, that I always thought I would be