2.20.20
They say if it hits you, let it. Let it be the words.
You are a complete, whole person. All on your own. Embodied within cosmic dust and subatomic particles in astronomic chaos, into a compact being. You will always find your way back.
You are radiating in divine energy, compact into your being. You have been magic all along. You are not small, you are not mundane. You are deliberate, and meant to be felt.
You like to share. You warm hands will always hold, your bones will always break again before they finish mending.
You do not know when to stop breaking your bones for people who have their own to walk on. You are glass. Do not shatter yourself for someone who is afraid of cuts.
You do not know when to stop giving. When to stop loving, something that has torn your skin, left lacerations in parts of you that were never meant to be destroyed. Temples were never meant to burn.
You are built from the ruins they left you in. You are the cities that they feared would light the skies again. Your foundation roots from the soil they buried you in. You are a walking, talking monument, you will not perish in the fires they've set out for you.
You will always bloom flowers in your veins, you are warm. You bask in sunlight, while the rest of the world is frigid.
You do not know when to retire from a two a.m response,
to something you sent at one thirty p.m.
You are soft. You are red dogwood petals in the rain, reminding the weary world there is still color left in the midst of a bleak uncertainty.
Do not let them break you. Do not let them convince you that this is all just systematic, that we must all go through a series of breaking and healing to feel something.
Stop writing out lengthy heart strings, for people who only intend to break and stretch them out.
A person's curiosity of you is not something that guarantees they will love you the way that you deserve.
You do not need to be broken into pieces, for people who cannot handle you whole.
