I take all of the should be’s and I wrap them in gold
Dress them with a bow on top, curl the ends with scissors
Sign my name on the tag in cursive with a heart
It was time to give them back to their rightful owners
For the should be’s that have been lingering in a murky place within my subconscious, they were never mine in the first place
I tape the boxes with packing tape and no return address
Wait by the window for the mail to take them away
You should be writing more
You should be making more money
You should have nicer things
Open the cabinets to get some water, you should have nicer glasses
Set the glass of water down on the table
Your table shouldn’t have paint stains on it
Grandma’s voice on the end of the phone, do you cook often in that nice kitchen of yours?
You should cook more, why don’t you cook more?
You should find someone who is financially secure
A man who has a “nice” job, someone to provide you with a comfortable life
You should find that soon
Are you looking?
Are you on the apps?
The mail truck drives away and the shoulds get further and further
The voice of the shoulds quiets
Now there is space for the voice of my heart and my soul
That reminds me tables are made to be stained
With colorful paint from art nights with friends and red wine and coffee at sunrise
That a stained table means a life full and lived
And a life working with children that makes your heart dance with their unique beauty is much more rewarding than any number in a bank account
And a life with a man who sees your heart, who is artistic and kind, is more important than any false sense of security
That a life of living is more important than a life full of belongings
The shoulds are not me
I have grabbed them with my hands, ripped them from my body
What is left is a pulsing freedom
Feet on the earth
Bare skin on the sun
The dance of my soul and the song of my heart moving together in sacred rhythm
Your should be’s were never made to live inside of a woman this free.