Where the flowers bloom

Some days, she is fierce and can move mountains. She is unstoppable, climbing the unknown. With gentleness, descending slowly with confidence and pace. 

Yet some days, she is a storm bracing for waves that will push against her. Sailing a treacherous force that will pull her under, apprehensive to fight against those waves. 

Gentleness... is hope and hope allows her to stay still, and her body will flow to the tides. Surrender my body and mind-this soul to the movements you cannot control. 

Eventually, she would see the rays of warmth that is the sun and a land peeked with luminous floral patches with lush green fields

Picking up the pieces

The hate you give, it makes me hate you. But I can't hate you; I can only resent you. Until I no longer want to be a part of you. And when that happens—and it has—now I just wish you healing.

I'll be left here to pick up the pieces of me. Here I am again, questioning if I can be loved, as I put myself back together again, piece by piece. May the cracks be filled with vivid color, so maybe one day it will attract the one meant for me.

And as I color my emptiness, may I also learn from this hate you give. You cannot give love to hate. Hate can only heal itself or fester. Like wearing a mask and taking it off, revealing its true colors. But the colors are dull and unrefined. A lover stays to commit to the task of their art: to nurture.

Even a loving heart, when scorned, still wishes you well. Yet time reveals itself, there is nothing left here.

It wasn't hate in the end, what I felt. It was a desire to feel safe so we could both be whole. But here are the pieces of me. May the next hands hold me well. I will be whole once again.

You were never broken

 ⋆˙⟡ You can hold onto people all you want, but you cannot change them to love you the way you need them to.

Beg them to see your point of view, or give things time when clearly they are taking up yours.

You cannot paint over cracks, when they are hitting the floor with force creating them.

There is no growth, just war. They claim battle, on your soul, your body. 

And, we fight for this? And, we call ourselves broken for this?

You do not need permission from this type of validation; they already destroyed yours. 

You are not broken.

Healing will be messy

 ✧˖° I never heard of anyone who enters their healing era, and it suddenly becomes a road full of blossoming flowers or chittering animals flocking to your aid. 

It is fire and brimstone underneath your feet. You feel the pain, the aches taking a toll beneath your feet as if you walked miles, in search of a place to rest. Perhaps this is punishment, or what you exactly deserve-anger is within the body. It’s like you trapped in a body you cannot control, it is just your limbs that keep pushing you to walk over such harsh conditions, you know it hurts but you keep doing it nonetheless. Looking ahead, you just see more darkness more hues of red, blue, purple, an aura that a cold bleak place-how can fire and brimstone beneath my feet yet the air around me be so cold?

There is grief, that lives there too.

It engulfs you, swallows you whole, and before you know it tears are falling down your cheek. It is like you do not have control over your mind, nor your body anymore. You keep walking on a surface that continues to hurt you, and you there is nothing you do about the cold breeze hitting against you. Just the body, driven to walk further, the colors feel more intense, and the ground feels numb now. 

The feeling of emptiness can be overwhelming, like a void that swallows every ounce of joy and purpose. When thoughts echo, “So this is it? I am nothing now,” it can feel as if you're trapped in a cycle of hopelessness. It's as though your mind has become a relentless storm, each thought a gust of wind threatening to uproot your sense of self.

Curled up under the covers, the world feels distant. The blankets serve as a barrier, a sanctuary where the outside chaos cannot reach. Yet, this solitude is a double-edged sword. While it provides warmth and a semblance of safety, it can also amplify the silence that allows negative thoughts to grow louder. Isolation should only be used as a tool to recover, not a punishment nor an escape. 

“Wait, what am I doing exactly under here?” Confusion fills ones mind, and its fuzzy-like static on the television, curious yet irritating. Like the channels, on such a device you know to switch it up, otherwise you will continue to stare pointlessly at its static trying so hard to make out the picture-or maybe, surrender to it even as if nothing matters. Just let it happen, but do you really? No, you don’t. 

“I still have things I enjoy, I like my books, I like my video games, and I like my friends.” You plead, with yourself over and over. Slowly, getting out of bed It’s just bright, like looking at a television in complete high definition. You can see those colors still, those colors are now the canvas of objects, and life forms outside your window. The green on the trees, the blue in the sky, have the flowers were always this vibrant?  Were the birds this pretty before? You deny they were ever this beautiful, and maybe panic stirs within you. Why is everything so….. clear? As if I am seeing life for the first time? Perhaps you were hidden for so long, under those sheets you remember what anything looked liked in such a vivid hue such as fresh flowers against the basil colored grass. Give it time to heal, let your eyes adjust you are here.

“I am still here.”

Acceptance. 

You understand now? 

You had to walk through brimstone, until your feet were numb. You had to walk through a cold dead space, as if it was north pole itself! Buried in darkness, to which you called a safe space. Was it really safe? It was just hiding, or was it? Nothing made sense. It just felt right. Until, it was enough, and maybe it will never will be enough. Healing its messy, you will cry, you will hide, you will feel the need to justify all actions. But in the end, its just you versus you. 

Anger, sadness, guilt, shame-repeat. Until you accepted it all. Then you heal, then you fall again-then heal. 

But you will always come back here, a space of healing where its not just sadness, but fond memories that blossom forever-may you cherish all phases of those memories. 

Healing, It is always there for you, so ever kindly for you-be brave.