You Were Right, Bones

My bones said they want me to be me.  They quietly whispered to me to read that book, to play that song, to draw that picture, to wear that shirt.  They said they ached with longing when I closed that book,  chose a different song, (which in reality, I hated), drew a different picture, pulled a different shirt over my head. 

At first I didn't recognize the aches as a call to find myself.  But I've learned to trust my bones.  They know exactly what kind of milk will help me to grow big and strong.  They've known all along.  It's the rest of me that needs to catch up.

Now I've begun to recognize those distinct, quiet and natural aches.  The aches that long for the books and songs a other things that make up the flesh that my bones must carry. 

Finally, one day, I listened.  I picked up that book, the one that no one else has heard of.  The one that speaks to me.  I played that song.  The one that isn't on the radio but brings me to life.  I drew that picture, the one that seems odd to others, but excites me every time I see it.  I put on that shirt.  The one that isn't in all the pictures but makes me feel confident.  Makes me feel like me.  Now?  Now my bones sigh with relief at the weight that was taken off them, and are more than happy to carry what they were meant for.