Moss and Mushrooms

Rewriting the definition

A collection with a lot of different parts/themes, in part being looking at the world and myself differently. I.e. writing about wanting kids when I didn't in the past and writing about questioning things in a bigger sense.
No TWs.

Child of mine
Thoughts running into uncomfortable directions, anxiety that sits in your shoulders, panic that leads to a heartbeat so rapid you can feel every beat, a mind wandering in every wrong direction.
How do you explain this to a five year old?
I envision myself explaining this to you, making the message easier to understand without shrinking it into something smaller than it is.
I walk into the art studio, staring at a wall of paint, every color my small mind could imagine, how would I paint the picture? I paint grand trees, I paint skylines, I paint people like stories.
I imagine little moments, I imagine telling you I'd rather you be scared with me than scared alone, I imagine myself holding your hand as we walk into the entrance of my mothers home, I imagine telling you about prayer, I imagine the hundreds of little ways I would avoid instilling shame. I imagine you calling me Poppy like I did my father.
I don't know who you are, I don't know what you will become, but you will be loved.

Endearing
I love it when you tell me the little stories of your day, tell me about your sewing projects, tell me about the thing you're looking forward to, read me a bedtime story by leaving me notes about the little joys.
I love it when you become so overjoyed that you cannot sit still, when the excitement moves through you, elation that cannot and should not be contained.
I love it when you tell me your secrets, tell me that silly thing you've never been able to mention, tell me about the ugly thing that never seems to leave your mind.
I love it when you tell me about your perception of god. Why do you or why do you not have the sense that he is there? How do you ask? How do you listen?
I love it when you tell me the stories you tell yourself, when you reword things from the past in a way that helped you better understand yourself. What word do you use for that? I'd love to hear why.
I love it when you tell me about it before it's over, when the joy before the joy is relayed to me. Tell me about your plans, tell me about the ache before you find something to dull it.

Not all metaphors
Sitting in the grass amidst the mild cold of January, sunlight and a blue skyline living above you, the Beatles "golden lullabies" singing itself repeatedly, thinking to yourself that this, whatever this moment may be, is exactly what you have been searching for.
Your boyfriend seeing parts of yourself that you didn't know were here today, he loves all of you, even when you aren't what you thought you were.
Realizing again and again that there is not one way you are supposed to live, one way you are supposed to be, one role you are supposed to fill, you are not a canvas painting over green, life is not a canvas painted yellow, every shade existing of plum, blue, and orange existing for one reason or another.
A mind that has become a drive-in movie theater, you sit in the grass and feel the sun on your skin, you choose the stories to play on the projector, you are being held, you are warm.

Rambles
You can think of hundreds of words and phrases to describe this and all of them feel like a miswording, lying almost. What is it? I couldn't tell you.
A list of things that show me there is a way to live with it, a longer list of questions.
Questioning this and that and everything. The truth turned on its head and again yesterday and again today and again now.
A sense of being overwhelmed and fearful, a sense of unease in your heart and shoulders, a sense of peace unlike any you've known before, almost quiet.
Sometimes you're elated and everything feels as if it led to here, to this moment, to a life you did not seem yourself capable of, and sometimes you feel you have no answers and only questions.
The fundamentals of the stories you told yourself crumbling under the weight of it all, breaking into pieces, you know it's different than it was before, but how?