And nobody cares to tell me I'm not allowed. I am allowed

It's been a long time since my last post. Why? Renos and Moving. Oh God, it's been HARD. So so stretched, all of us.

I'm still so raw these days. Yesterday I came upon this artist, Anaïs Mitchell and her song I Wear Your Dress. The lyrics intrigued me, so I looked them up.

This is just to tell you
That I wear your dress sometimes
The one you made with the gold brocade
And the empire waist line
You fit it to your figure
When it looked just like my own
That was Jersey in the fifties
When the women stayed at home
So you laid your paper pattern
On the table in between
The silver wearing napkins
And the Harper's magazines
From a slow suburban season
That is nothing but a dream
To your granddaughter

This is just to tell you
That I wear your dress sometimes
Wear it down to the bar in town
And I dance around all night
Talking and joking
Swearing and smoking
Like any stranger in the crowd
And nobody stares
And nobody cares to tell me I'm not allowed
I am allowed
And my body by the letter of the law is still my own
When I lay down in the darkness
Unburdened and alone
With the liberty you've given
Like the clothing you've outgrown
To your granddaughter
To your granddaughter

This is just to tell you
That I wear your dress sometimes

I read them while listening. I cried. What a beautiful little picture of progress.

Today I stumbled up on Hayley Kiyoko's Girls Like Girls music video. Watched on my coffee break. I cried.

My instinct even now, despite myself, is to criticize this behavior. "You can't/shouldn't be like this.", "What's wrong with you?" Some self-talk samples. But I chose to continue to feel. (Ha, maybe I don't have a choice.) In times of great hurt, I can't stand this about myself. But usually, I'd say more often than not, I feel "How wondrous it is to feel anything at all."

I refuse to close.