White Flag Waving

I like to think I am guarded. By my faults. I never get to close, without setting myself apart. I will always be eighteen in my mind, making the poorest of choices on an empty stomach. And the only thing that separates me from my crazy, wild, friends- is my family. I have a place to go home to, no matter how late and how hard I have fallen. I can come home masked in shame and my family will still recognize me.
I can touch and be touched and fold my hands in shame. I can stand with my feet spread wide apart and my hands stuffed in my pockets. Scared someone will catch the way I am starting to rot. But, my family will wash my hands for me. Scrape at my pains, rinse, repeat and find the person I am underneath.
All week long I can sin the sins of disregard and intentions. And on Friday night I can spread my feet out to be massaged and ask for forgiveness. Explained.
Forgiveness explained.
Its that powerful.
I can travel the world and start only at 17. I can make new friends and break away from old ones. I can grow wide, and hide underneath only black clothes- but my family will still find me and bring me back.
Its a love no one takes back once it's given. Its unspoken and still screaming in my ear.
It why I know I will be OK.
But, this week- I tripped.
I feel so flat on my face, I couldn't hide the look of surprise I must have had.
And they didn't have to ask, they knew...
I fell so unbelievably hard.
I got caught missing you in bursts or sadness,
solitude,
pangs,
my spaces,
and then the ones I share.
I was so embarrassed to find myself caring this much.
And I came home, looking miserable and torn.
My family didn't say anything.
They washed me off and held me close.
They strung their fancy words like ribbons through my room-
you are,
you will be,
you can,
you will.
And I know that I am nothing by myself.
And only,
always,
a part of this amazing family.
I feel like holding up my hands
to show you I have surrendered.