[in poetry]
If I listened to people in my past
who told me to stop being so sad,
to stop writing words that are
too deep
and
too real,
to stop it with
the "unreachable" dreams…
I don’t think I would be here.
I wouldn’t be looking at half-open doors
and see possibility.
I would probably still be searching
for wonder and beauty
when it’s actually
all around me.
If I hadn’t used my heartaches
to wish for something more;
my pain to dream of worlds
and people I deserve,
I wouldn’t be shedding tears
in front of the man I love as he tells me
that no, you do not thank people
for loving you.
In fact, they should be
thanking you
for letting them
love you.
All my life I thought
love is something you deserve,
that it is earned.
All my life I’ve spent days clinging to
the wrong types of men
with the
wrong kinds of affection.
I’ve been chasing
and waiting
and searching
and hurting.
On the other side of the half open door
is a different kind of world.
It is warmer and kinder.
It is filled with softness and light.
(and maybe more words than I would have liked, but that is alright)
I cannot believe I am here.
I look at the half open door
and burst it wide open.
I let the harsh past merge
with the gentleness of the future.
It is how it should be.
I am both past and present,
both heartache and healing.
I am thankful I am here.
