SAME. Showing Up. Imperfectly.

A Question. In an effort to join the conversation. However imperfectly. My ego begged me first not to show up. For two days. Now demanding me not to post. “Don’t you dare! There’s a microphone covering your face. Plus, you’re not a singer. Hear how your voice quivers.” But it’s fitting. That the microphone covers my face. And that my nerves are exposed so.  Because, it is not about me. Taking heed of #brenebrown invitation yesterday to join the imperfect conversation, I shared SAME last night in community with other artists.  A conversation that humbles me. AND, urges me to show up where I am. As I am. Albeit, imperfectly.

SAME
How do I talk to you
And get across to you
That we are the same

How do I talk to you
Get across to you
that we are the same

There is a time
That hour we’re born
That first breath we take
That cry we both make
Our souls say hello

When does it happen
That our armor goes up
And that Soul full of Joy
Gets shielded from Love

How do I talk to you
And get across to you
That we are the same

and tell me, tell me

About the scars of your wounded heart
Can I show you mine?
I feel I’m bleeding again

We can’t be that different
When we’re born all the same
That channel of our birth
That want to live
All the same

So, how do we talk, me and you
Is there a way?

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