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.

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1 pm

She woke up feeling fat.
PMS.
Would men ever understand?
Would she?

She wasn’t one for pity or shame. Shimmying into her tiniest bikini “PMS be damned!” she exclaimed, then poured a glass of wine and lounged under the gentle afternoon sunshine.
1 pm.

This week, she had been all about breaks: giving her body, brain, and heart one. The box of mementos she dug through recently reflected someone fierce. Strong. A chaser of dreams, an adventurer if there ever was one. But these days, that wasn’t her.

She was tired. Lost. Walking the marathon of life. It’s not that things were bad, for they certainly weren’t. It was the mediocrity of it all that killed her. Good enough just wasn’t enough. Not for her. She was always one with big plans, chasing life, grabbing on as if hanging from a speeding train. Pushing herself, always, to succeed, achieve, faster, better, stronger, one more set, one more page, one more song… But lately, wasn’t she just enough? The way she stood there, naked with all her faults? Someone should love her down to the bones, defects and all. She expected that of others, so why not of herself? Tired of being her own worst enemy, she gave herself a gift: a few days to do as she pleased, without thinking about silly things like proper manners and custom and what others would think.

So she drank more wine than she knew she should, and peeled off one more layer, took off one more mask for him;
She ignored phone calls and texts, and read and ate breakfast and wrote honest words, all in bed; She left her nails chipped and didn’t wear makeup, slept naked without brushing her teeth, picked wildflowers, sang in the shower, and danced in her room with eyes closed until everything stood suspended and she felt alone in the world, without worries or pain, or fears of tears and goodbyes;
With no heartaches or thoughts of future “I love you’s” and crushed hearts;
With no insecurities or need for covers and masks;
No miscommunications, unsaid words, half-empty glasses and gray skies;
Only sun and light.
Flowers, sunrises, and starry nights.

Only Love. And peace.

That’s all she needed.
That’s all everyone ever needs.
Love.
Peace.

She repeated the mantra in her mind until PMS felt like a silly little thing.

Peace, Magic, Love

The new rebellion is not hatred or destruction.
The best way to fight is one they will not expect,
Is to be someone they don’t anticipate,
One who doesn’t believe one human is better than another
The secret is in the acceptance,
the unconditional love and support to those around us.
It is in the love to a stranger, the offering to buy dinner,
the paying of a toll for the person behind you
that we win
This magic, this love, is our new beginning.
It is our time, it is our revolt.