Living Breathing Work of Art

I look at all the people and I finally concede that I am not responsible for them.  I am not responsible for what they think, what they say, what they do.  But I am responsible for me.

I am my own creation.  Every day I am the artist that carves and paints this living breathing work that is me.

I am responsible for me.

I can be pink, when everyone else seems grey.

I can dance, when everyone else shuffles along with their heads down.

I can laugh, when everyone else seems serious.

I can listen, when everyone else wants to talk.

I can be silent, when everyone else is noisy.

I can be me amongst everyone.

I can stand in the flow of it all and stand firm.

For I am responsible for me.

And maybe by being pink, when everyone seems grey, maybe some will see that pink is not such a bad colour.  Maybe some will find their own colours.  Their own shades.  And learn to be their own me.

Yes, I am responsible for me.  I am energy.  I am life.  I am my own creation - every single day.

We all are.  Everyone is a living breathing work of art.

It was just a moment

It was just a moment.  A moment remembered.  Looking out through the eyes of a seven year old girl.  Seeing the world with the wisdom that only a seven year old could have.

They weren't happy.  No-one was very nice to each other.  Why?  Something wasn't right.  Something wasn't right with this planet.

It was just a decision.  Just a moment.  A tiny slice of time.  Yet that moment, that decision, would affect the entire course of her life. 

It was just a word - "No".  No, she would not be like that - ever, not if she could help it.  She would not forget kindness.  She would not forget laughter.  She would not forget fun.  She would not give up what she felt in the deepest part of her heart to be true, to be right.

It was just a moment.  A moment that happened so many years ago.  And yet she remembered it so well.  As if for the briefest of seconds, she was back there, standing in the park, watching all the adults, looking out through the eyes of a seven year old girl and wondering why.  Pale grey eyes, scanning the scene and knowing it didn't have to be this way.