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Description
"Life"
"Life is"
We constantly try to define this line we walk from birth to beautifully horrifying oblivions unknown, exasperatingly evaluating the obstacle course we navigating through aimlessly and the tragic works laid most famously are
"Life is pain"
"Life is hopeless"
"Life sucks and then you die"

We walk a road contrasting the rotations of a physical and emotional sun shifting between choosing and refusing to illuminate our path. Ups and downs through light and dark and all the little stars and moonlight in between.

And the hard part is we can't always seem to perfectly understand the circumstances of those around us, like somehow we're all different kinds of colorblind in a game of twister entangled in spider webs and sharp little splinters waiting to prick us in the foot when we tread wrong.

And so words arise that sometimes we close our eyes and try to imagine aren't there, or we recognize, accept and embrace, then continue to drown and keep holding on as common place.
I just wanted to write this to know that despite the sappy sounding rhetoric, and as much as it seems like I'm saying you can have your cake and eat it too, I promise you this.

Your pain is not your fault. You don't deserve it. And yet, you can still control your own fate. No matter how many times you hear otherwise from voices inside yourself or the mouths of someone else, you are
So.
So.
Beautiful.

Because I bet you don't know this but you don't hear it enough. We're born from darkness kicking and screaming and bleeding out of a placenta, into a world where we crawl to walk and walk to run and run to climb, and climb to fly.
Despite how tall the mountain looks when you look in the mirror, you can dig your fingers into the unforgiving rock and stand at the top and even smile, roughed up knuckles and all.

I watch so many people in life,
Too. Damn. Many.
Feel so, worthless, so useless, like they were born with clipped wings and hearts of gasoline in a world that's on fire. Scars from the skin to the soul write last will's and testaments because the flesh is slowly starting to believe any day it will die.

But, these people, they aren't dying. They are alive, they're going to live, they live right now, like you in front of me are, breathing as I speak these words. They don't know it but they hold every line they wish to take right there in their hands, as clear to me as the lines and folds in their palms. But so many of us see through kaleidoscopes smudged with charcoal until only the ugliest visions show.

But I've seen phenomena, miracles in their words as if from the pit of their stomach where bravery builds in a hurricane a bit of the wind escapes and says
"I am here. I am part of you. Let me out and I'll show you what's been hiding in the blind spots of your mind."

I've watched a woman shine beneath an eggshell, watching like a bird ever so waiting to hatch, drawing pieces of passion on the inside and constantly feeling afraid because every time she tries to fly she hits the top of the eggshell. I've watched her though, I've watched her slowly learn to rest now and start to unravel the mystery, and realize that her best is and always has been good enough. That the patient pecking at that eggshell will one day pay off and she'll be in the sky before she knows it. Because though perhaps it can seem like forever that it takes to leave the dark catacombs eclipsing on the sides, the universe is long, and time only seems slow when we see only an infinite wall of shadows around us, and it's even harder to see ourselves in there.

I see a light in the eggshells we often find ourselves living in. I see eyes shining like fireflies with goals hidden beneath a glaze of disappointment and unmet expectations, of voices obsessing over mistakes.

But your mistakes aren't you, they're your mistakes. Perfection, flaws, they're make believe, as if there's something wrong with us and there's some finite goal that drives people to keep painfully picking themselves apart as if it'll help them reach the ceiling of perfection, and all those goddamn feelings of inadequacy will be over.

But, that's not how it works. That's not how it has to work, it's not how it has to be. Life is full of infinite possible things to learn and better ourselves with, to experience and to help illuminate the road ahead.

So, just breathe. Breathe in and breathe out, if just for a moment. Just one time, even if you don't really believe it, write yourself a letter and sign it "you're worth it." Because I promise, you are.

You are so more worth it than you know, more than you may ever know in this one world in our journey. So, let yourself relax. Let yourself eat a little more than you should. Let yourself not be what someone else wants you to be. Let yourself show your sensitive underbelly, even if they tease you for it, I doubt they'd show the same bravery.

So feel free to make mistakes, because that's half of growing and becoming something more than you were the day before. Because, maybe the most "perfect" thing about you, is how beautifully imperfect you are. How you can be so much more than you've ever imagined you could.

Because maybe every success, and every failure, and every little thing in between, are just part of learning how to fly.

Description
"Life"
"Life is"
We constantly try to define this line we walk from birth to beautifully horrifying oblivions unknown, exasperatingly evaluating the obstacle course we navigating through aimlessly and the tragic works laid most famously are
"Life is pain"
"Life is hopeless"
"Life sucks and then you die"

We walk a road contrasting the rotations of a physical and emotional sun shifting between choosing and refusing to illuminate our path. Ups and downs through light and dark and all the little stars and moonlight in between.

And the hard part is we can't always seem to perfectly understand the circumstances of those around us, like somehow we're all different kinds of colorblind in a game of twister entangled in spider webs and sharp little splinters waiting to prick us in the foot when we tread wrong.

And so words arise that sometimes we close our eyes and try to imagine aren't there, or we recognize, accept and embrace, then continue to drown and keep holding on as common place.
I just wanted to write this to know that despite the sappy sounding rhetoric, and as much as it seems like I'm saying you can have your cake and eat it too, I promise you this.

Your pain is not your fault. You don't deserve it. And yet, you can still control your own fate. No matter how many times you hear otherwise from voices inside yourself or the mouths of someone else, you are
So.
So.
Beautiful.

Because I bet you don't know this but you don't hear it enough. We're born from darkness kicking and screaming and bleeding out of a placenta, into a world where we crawl to walk and walk to run and run to climb, and climb to fly.
Despite how tall the mountain looks when you look in the mirror, you can dig your fingers into the unforgiving rock and stand at the top and even smile, roughed up knuckles and all.

I watch so many people in life,
Too. Damn. Many.
Feel so, worthless, so useless, like they were born with clipped wings and hearts of gasoline in a world that's on fire. Scars from the skin to the soul write last will's and testaments because the flesh is slowly starting to believe any day it will die.

But, these people, they aren't dying. They are alive, they're going to live, they live right now, like you in front of me are, breathing as I speak these words. They don't know it but they hold every line they wish to take right there in their hands, as clear to me as the lines and folds in their palms. But so many of us see through kaleidoscopes smudged with charcoal until only the ugliest visions show.

But I've seen phenomena, miracles in their words as if from the pit of their stomach where bravery builds in a hurricane a bit of the wind escapes and says
"I am here. I am part of you. Let me out and I'll show you what's been hiding in the blind spots of your mind."

I've watched a woman shine beneath an eggshell, watching like a bird ever so waiting to hatch, drawing pieces of passion on the inside and constantly feeling afraid because every time she tries to fly she hits the top of the eggshell. I've watched her though, I've watched her slowly learn to rest now and start to unravel the mystery, and realize that her best is and always has been good enough. That the patient pecking at that eggshell will one day pay off and she'll be in the sky before she knows it. Because though perhaps it can seem like forever that it takes to leave the dark catacombs eclipsing on the sides, the universe is long, and time only seems slow when we see only an infinite wall of shadows around us, and it's even harder to see ourselves in there.

I see a light in the eggshells we often find ourselves living in. I see eyes shining like fireflies with goals hidden beneath a glaze of disappointment and unmet expectations, of voices obsessing over mistakes.

But your mistakes aren't you, they're your mistakes. Perfection, flaws, they're make believe, as if there's something wrong with us and there's some finite goal that drives people to keep painfully picking themselves apart as if it'll help them reach the ceiling of perfection, and all those goddamn feelings of inadequacy will be over.

But, that's not how it works. That's not how it has to work, it's not how it has to be. Life is full of infinite possible things to learn and better ourselves with, to experience and to help illuminate the road ahead.

So, just breathe. Breathe in and breathe out, if just for a moment. Just one time, even if you don't really believe it, write yourself a letter and sign it "you're worth it." Because I promise, you are.

You are so more worth it than you know, more than you may ever know in this one world in our journey. So, let yourself relax. Let yourself eat a little more than you should. Let yourself not be what someone else wants you to be. Let yourself show your sensitive underbelly, even if they tease you for it, I doubt they'd show the same bravery.

So feel free to make mistakes, because that's half of growing and becoming something more than you were the day before. Because, maybe the most "perfect" thing about you, is how beautifully imperfect you are. How you can be so much more than you've ever imagined you could.

Because maybe every success, and every failure, and every little thing in between, are just part of learning how to fly.