You talk too much.

Let me shut your mouth with mine.

Maybe I'll be happy if you tell me you'll never slash my heart into a thousand pieces again
Maybe I'll be happy if this time you mean it

Maybe I'll be happy if you figure out that I'm actually worth loving
Maybe I'll be happy if you figure out that I'm not your enemy

Maybe I'll be happy if I lose 20 pounds and I like the girl in the mirror again
Maybe I'll be happy if we really, really try this time

But actually I'm kinda happy without you
And our little angel makes me happy
And I'm learning to love myself and that matters more than whether you love me
So if I'm trying for nothing, then I give up

I love you, I want you
but I could easily live without you

Eishet chayil: "a woman of virtue is worth more than rubies"
If you ever figure it out, let me know, because being so undervalued has gotten rather old

What I thought was holding me up
Was slowly dragging me down

Sometimes it's good
To be sad.
To not chase away,
But embrace the heaviness
That weighs down your

Heart and feet.

Sometimes it's good
To be sad.
To rest your head in a
Warm lap, allowing tears to flow,
And loving fingers to

Find them.

As a child the frustration and aggravation we caused our parents counting down the days until Christmas or our Birthday.

And those afternoons in elementary school trying not to doze off while counting the minutes until the dismissal bell would ring.

The older I got the more I've counted my life away.
Count the years until 16 to be able to drive and be free.
Count the years until 21 to be able to drink and feel like a grownup.

Counting the months then years of the length of each relationship
Waiting to be wed.

Then counting the negative pregnancy tests over and over becoming hopeless that I would ever be able to count little toes and fingers.

Counting the tears that I shed for my husband, as the fairy tale family I dreamed of turned into a nightmare.

Counting the nights left alone, scared and waiting for him to return home.

Counting the minutes between each contraction.
Counting the moments before my miracle would arrive.
Then counting the staples in my belly where she had to be taken from my body so that we would survive.
Finally counting ten piggies and ten little fingers

Counting the hours and days daddy left us alone and scared in the hospital for him to party and drink.

Counting the paragraphs on the separation papers
Counting the steps to the court house
Counting the people watching as my romance and love was flushed away

Counting the almost endless nights praying for me and my baby
Counting her smiles, counting her wishes
Counting her Birthday's

Counting the moments I am blessed to be her mom
Counting the hours of work to be able to return home to her.
I will spend my lifetime counting.