how beautiful is it
to be able to give yourself a second chance,
to cradle your heart with sugared hands and sing it songs,
dance until your body has become a canvas for your blooming mind
how beautiful is it
to hold your own hand and pull yourself off of the ground,
to be so in love with your scars, proud of how you live with your trauma
proud of staying here for another day
how beautiful is it
to find within every cloud, every moment, every breath
the faint quiver of tranquility, the gentle brush of a bird's wing against the cerulean sky, and the promise that you will try
not to give up
on yourself, abandon the masterpiece of your existence, pack the brushes away into boxes of despair
how beautiful is it
to scream and sing on the streets in the rain
feel your hands glide the hazy sunset sky
sit in the dark alone and feel
for the first time
complete and so inexplicably human
and so okay.
how beautiful is it
to finally
feel alive
vibrant
at peace with yourself and appreciate
a body and mind which wane and wax in their healing
but nonetheless
teach you
that you are here
and you are blooming
and you have never stopped since.
1/21/21
