Special

She is special. She knows it, but she is wrong as to why she thinks it is her sickness. she thinks it is her addictions she thinks it is her abusive upbringing she thinks it is her excessive weight. She doesn't even know realize that these things are not really her They are the moss that covers the tree of her being. They conceal her even from herself and make her blend in. She clings to them and they cling to her as though they were one. But they are not one; they are not really part of her. They just conceal her from herself and the world. They hide the fact that she is special. She is special. She knows it, but she is wrong as to why. It is her steadfastness. it is her courage. It is her motherly love for those weaker and more hurt than herself. She doesn't even realize these things are her. They are the living oak core of her being. They are the light a bushel basket cannot contain. She doesn't need to cling to these because they are who she is; they are one. They are the true "her" and when they peak out from those things that try to hide her, it becomes so clear that she is special