© 2012 by Maria and Christopher Clymer Kurtz
I don’t know when I’m going to die—
in fifty years, maybe tonight—
leave my fears and worries far behind.
So what if I live without holding back,
if I cut myself some slack,
if I just be myself, give up the act?
I forgive me in a thousand different ways,
many times every single day,
For things I said out loud,
or thought but didn’t do,
times I acted smart
and felt like a fool.
Yes, I forgive me today.
I wear my feelings on my sleeve,
all my insecurities,
the misery of trying hard to please.
What if I don’t care so much,
if I act ridiculous?
If I feel out of place, well it’s just me.
I forgive you for the time
you sweetly smiled and cut in line,
and talked me into saying “I don’t mind.”
But when it comes to little me,
living in obscurity,
well, it’s not so easy to shake free.
No more shrinking, playing small,
too afraid of being strong;
I needed my permission all along.