This year is about me, you, US. We’ve fought our deepest demons, the ones that creep in our sleep.
This time around we’re not letting monsters instill fear in our hearts.
Feel your beat. Focus on the sound of your voice. No one else can demand you to follow them. You’re not a follower, you drive your own steering wheel.
You will follow the pathway called, “My Life”.
I will be on the passenger side.
Don’t take for granted every mistake you’ve made.
We’ve cried, laughed, and even almost died.
We were hit by the highest hurricanes.
But we never drowned, and you don’t even know how to swim.
Scared of almost meeting death herself, we learned to appreciate the flowers in our garden. This year we will plant more seeds, new opportunities and bigger dreams. We will water our flowers throughout the week, growth and confidence will bloom.
Don’t fear to wear what makes you beautiful.
Be a rainbow, the diamond on the rough. You will shine from a mile afar.
Wear your most gorgeous outfit, your smile.
Be bold to stare at each other in the mirror every morning.
We aren’t meant to stand on opposite sides, but rather united in one mind.
But if on some nights you want to dissolve, it is okay.
Don’t be too hard on yourself if you want to let yourself break into a million pieces. I will…we will pick each other up. Embrace all your weaknesses because only then you’ll know what serenity feels like.
Tell those that you love that you can no longer give them all of you, because they only give you half or no love at all.
You need some of that love to continue thriving.
Because in order to care for them, you need to heal yourself first.
First, you must now put yourself first.
Don’t believe the whispers on the street, you are not selfish.
People can sing without knowing the beat, but only you know the words to your song.
So hold on to what gives you the most strength…your family.
You made promises, and some went with the wind.
This year you will fly and reach for those promises because you will make them come true.
Remember it won’t be easy. No matter the weather, you will be rewarded with flowers in the winter. And even when they’re dying you will lift your pedals up.
I cannot wait to see you, us walking down the stage. Looking over at the sound of the ocean, clapping for our success.
The first time you crumpled and chucked a corner of your life it landed on the floorboards that noticed when your shoe size changed. I’ve watched you shout sentences out of your pockets, the chapters you wished away tucked under boxes in the attic
You forgot that I write sonnets even in the moments when you wish the words were different
Baked into the silence of an unchanging commute, between the lines of a receipt, stolen from the heaviness of a light beer
To praise the job of your sigh and the metrics of your laugh. The chip laid on your shoulder is self-inflicted and superficial, unfairly designing the angle of your flinch when smoothing the lines of your blazer
I’m aware that each time knowledge shakes your hand, more hesitation steals its way beneath the confidence of your brow
But I hear the words, the paragraphs, and the footnotes
They’re the flush in your cheeks when you thought you found a lifetime of pinky promises. The sound of change you accidentally drop and the way your hands hug your knees in the shower
Plot points noiselessly idle in the etchings of your sheets, in the breath of your smile and the wanting of your pace.
I listen to your worry in the unchecked list hidden by the stack of papers settled on your dresser
Yet, even when you temporize, I continue to cite moments
So that you remember how hospital beds and birthday cards and feeling last in line could not separate you from your darkest strand of hair
The purple of the raised scars underneath your shirt are smooth despite their nature, like how strokes across your lips make no mention of the pain they’ve caused
I’m in the room when you lose time contemplating time lost
Do you notice how I number the pages?
I hold a ruler to the glow of your irises when you hum under the little dipper. I’m there, studying the value of each thank you.
Integers of convention straighten your spine like the phone calls you miss, and you dither under the pressure of opportunity
I’m a witness to the metronome of your bedside lamp and how it keeps you afraid of the dark
The next sentence is always blank until it isn’t
Someday soon the gnawing of your aspirations will outweigh the chapters you believed weren’t worthwhile
Intermittent joys will steady your footsteps in new spaces, but burn crescendos brighter than evening sunsets when you realize great things don’t always come in threes
I’ll remind you that the relief of finding will hold you like a lover when you thought there was no chair meant for you
And you’ll write for you, for me, too
The story you love, the story yet to be