your thinking makes you small
your desire for ease makes you weak
your possibility is horizon wide
yet through a needle’s eye, you focus only on the freckle on your cheek
you are the victim.
they do it to you.
you are innocent.
they are cruel.
‘look, good world, how kind I am and see how meanly they treat me’
(venomous words, like slow poison, paralyze your action.)
i can hear the excuses now
but, i’m not enough
i don’t know the answers
they hate me
they’re so rude
it’s too hard
i’m not good enough
i’m too fat
i’m too old
no one will ever love me
i can’t do it
pull out your toolkit
(you already have the skills)
to heal yourself,
to make the world lighter and brighter.
to fix what ails you,
to choose again.
every moment, each decision of your life (with a flick of chance) has led you here.
‘here’ is not a surprise.
own it. be mad about it. piss and wallow and whine
and then get the fuck up and do what is required to grow through it.
you are the master artist of your life.
paint a magical picture rife with colour and vibrancy and feeling and emotion.
cry when you hurt, pour it out on the soil like blood – roll around in it. feel it.
show your teeth when you laugh in ridiculous pitch and frenzy,
let joy wrinkle the corners of your eyes and press lines into pink on your cheeks.
kiss deep and without thought.
let passion rise up from your gullet and flood someone else’s world with adoration.
pour your words with thoughtful intention onto someone else – – feed them; soothe them, they are dying of thirst.
you weren’t brought to this earth by chance or mistake
to ooze misery and cave in on yourself, broken.
you were brought here to thrive.
to make love
paint you, first.
and then unveil your masterpiece to the world.