I have found myself, today.
Once again I am everything I am.
I am the passionate stroke of theatre,
and the softest touch of poetry.
My colours are pastel:
peach and mauve,
whimsical tendrils
and earthy wooden grain.
I am woman,
and I am the ocean.
I am life
and I am love.
This day.
Authentically beautiful.
I shall sip on it and call it home.
There you are
behind a soft, uncertain smile,
surprised that you are loved.
You are loved.
It is your expectation
that has made it seem not so.
You see the world and ask it to hold you
as you wish to be held,
and yet this is not the way life works.
Life will hold you as it holds you
so that you may learn
and grow
and be.
Love is born in the quiet room
between expectation and reality.
Hold yourself in your quiet
and you will finally say:
I am loved.
I am loved.
Isn’t it funny
that for a moment
you forgot how wonderful you are.
Sweet, dancing sunshine.
Isn’t it funny.
I walk the streets listening to music that makes me cry.
I suppose I will do this until I have made peace with my past and become all that I am in this moment forever onwards, but for now, this is me: and me feels achingly beautiful. Like snow.
To walk the streets in this way, releasing newly risen anger and pain, is the gasp for breath I’ve needed to take for so long. Was I holding my breath, all those years? What did I do with anger and sadness before I learned to tie them in a ribbon of apricot sun?
I am no different to the one who reads this. Each of us travel through childhood gathering scars we will carry for the rest of our lives, or at least until we face them. I am facing mine, now.
I am feeling the anger and the pain.
I am also feeling a greater love than I’ve ever known.
For the sweet little girl I was, and still am in many ways.
For the beautiful people who loved me. How they nurtured my softness, how they pained to see it tarnished by the hardness of the world.
This is the gentle home of me.
Please, come in, just the way you are.
This life.
It is not what they have shown it to be.
The cold stone walls,
the repeating days in chains of grey.
This life is the art I hold in my own hands.
The art of my body as it stretches into the morning.
The art of breakfast as I eat the colours of the sun.
This life is what I ask it to be.
And, today, I ask it to be
beautiful.
Shine, my sweet bloggy family.
Always be you.
In all your flawed magnificence.
open.spotify.com/track/1haQRuZnoggW6U6l5jFIj9
I am a wildfire.
Where the flames fan wide
and the blue ripples split
the deep orange stream.
I cannot control what is wild and free.
I cannot control
a wildfire
like me.
I just wanted to tell you: today is going to be a beautiful day.
That’s why I’m here, it’s the only reason I have in this moment.
To tell you that, today, the sun shines outside and inside.
Because I choose it so.
How sweet it is, dear life.
To choose better, without handing a cup of pain to another.
To know my worth and to ask equal to its value without hesitation: a true gift from the whirling, twirling invisible world of all.
I have a choice, is what life has shown me. To kindly and carefully choose a brighter day. To say thank you but no, this does not work for me.
To seek compromise fairly
or else
gracefully capture
tomorrow’s sweet sun.
For the ones who think they are broken.
You are beautiful.
Just the way you are.
