my spirit animal is a cockroach

I was born good at building home inside a box.

I was born good at organizing my insides so they look nice and neat for others.

I was born good at fighting the fight and hiding the tears.

So I shouldn’t be judged too harshly when I resort to doing those things. But let’s talk about the weight of carrying the world on your shoulders.

Tell him you love your scars now that you have them, but it hurts knowing and remembering just how you got them. Tell him sometimes you wish you had just been one more privileged kid. Too. Tell him you just want to be happy. Too.

And so what if challenges gave you strength?

So what if the battles gave you character?

How far can those two traits get you these days anyways. Some of the strongest people are still having fights with God and praying for things to change.

You will survive because you have before.
Survival instinct isn’t asleep inside you any longer. I’m pretty sure that’s how these things go. But what do I really know. I don’t mind the idea of having a spirit animal I just wish mine wasn’t a cockroach.

Maybe I’ll keep the stories to myself. The pain locked tight inside.
Or maybe my heart is big enough to carry that, plus love.

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I’m working on it

come, darling

let me show you the magic

that is hope finding

home in a broken heart

perfect will never be mine

to promise and make yours

so take honest instead

and find beauty

in all the cracks I still carry within.

 

 

unexpected friends

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I thank these four walls. These walls I painted icy white while drinking beer and crying tears of joy that I was getting a clean slate. A chance to start over. To let go of the past. To move out of the darkness into light (and quite literally). These walls, which bore witness as I grew past the shell, filled in my bones, made my skin taut with hope. These walls I decorated with art and reclined my back on after long days I pray would soon end.

These walls have been my friend.

My cocoon where I transformed and manifested everything I have now.

I spend a moment thanking them, then take the curtains down, pick up the last box, and go in search of more magic and light.

Wanderlust

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Let’s get away.
Away from all the to-do’s and must-haves and shoulds that the world seems to constantly want to shove into our days. Away from schedules and alarm clocks.
I want to fall asleep under a starry sky held tight in your arms and wake up with your breath still hot on my neck. Let’s just go, follow the dirt road until we can’t anymore, until the river turns into a creek, until the air gets crisp, until we find the perfect spot to lose track of time. And then let’s stay there for a bit, immersed in the magic of it all, just you and me and the sunshine and the breeze and this life we have built. Darling, let’s go away for some time and live as if we’ve never known pain before. As if we’ve never been strangers to one another at one point in time. As if all we have is this moment, right here, right now, with the sun in our eyes and so much hope in our hearts for everything that’s still to come.

For you

For the dark corners
you have learned to embrace
and the soft spaces
you still keep;
for the fragile strength
that has carried you through
and the bravery you’ve shown
when you stared death in the face
and chose instead
to live.
to love.

For the decision you make
day after day to keep hope
within reach
and let go of grief,
for the honest tears you’ve shed
so openly with yourself
and the mountains you climbed
on your way
to peace;
For your eyes and lips
and ears and fingertips
and hot breath in your lungs
for staying present
through it all;
For what was
what is
and what will be.
for growth.
For the voice you birthed from the pain
and for the courage you’ve found to walk away
and let the past
die for good.

For Spring after Winter.
For the light in the darkness.
For rebirth.
For you.