When I first stepped into the county jail, I knew his pain, so I share his message on behalf of all the unknown people behind the inmate statistics data.
And in the process of waiting, I vow to never cease stirring the pot of questions. To let the flight of ideas and the whirl of ponders melt away my skin. Fleshy enclave of a beating heart made of questions, not answers. Love, not certainty. Life, not fear. Feeling over growth. Faith over ...
Know that she’s looking at times for a soft space to land; to let go without judgment, without being told she needs to be fixed. Without being asked what’s wrong. Without being condemned or looked down upon. Without being made to feel like she’s failed simply for showing another side of herself.