Not really sure where it started, or who is to blame, but somewhere along the way insecurities jumped into my pockets. They became my thorns.

I’ve been told that I was a silly, carefree, little bit wild, full of energy kid. Playing in the dirt, wearing denim overalls, catching frogs, bugs, caterpillars, grasshoppers, crickets. Fishing. Climbing trees. Rounding up neighborhood kids to play kickball, four square, jump rope, pop tar bubbles on the freshly built walls of the new basements.

Fearful, shameful, timid, lonely, betrayed, unequipped. The thorns grew.

I hear the carefree me inviting me to play kickball. I can see her sitting on the dock, fishing, as she attempts to pluck off the thorns. I can even feel her yearning to breathe beneath the tar bubbles.

As the years go by, wisdom sets up rooms where the thorns were plucked away. She hangs pictures to hide the scars – where they were deeply rooted.

My team cheers me on, reminds me that it doesn’t matter what people think of me. I remember that my purpose here is higher than being accepted. I’m reminded that Love wins, and victory prevails.

I allow my silly self to prance through the fields, wearing denim overalls, climbing trees, waiting anxiously for eternity to begin.

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