It can sting,
but at the right time,
nothing encourages growth more than a proper rebuke,
from a true friend, with proper intentions.

From the past I bring doubt to the future
For what reality is anymore I feel so unsure
My dreams put into practice
And my nightmares cast inside
Why can't I just enjoy my new life?

The drawers are filled, the table is *****.
It’s way past dinner time,
and I’ve got to be up at six-thirty.

Chaos and clutter,
deception and illusion.
My heart no longer flutters,
after the past’s contusion.

I take a step back and think to myself.
“I’ll just start here, and dust off this shelf.”

And so, I clean it up.
But then the realization comes.
Maybe for today,
after that little victory,
I might be a little closer to finally feeling I am worth more than enough.

A little less mess,
I must confess,
has now gone a long way.

Now my walls are all clean.
The table is no longer dusty.
This heart of mine,
I once thought could be never again be salvaged again is no longer rusty.

Once I look around,
I realize in the journey to tidying up,
it was not just some cleanliness,
but actually, myself I had found.

The woodcarver
Chips away at his creation
The old, steady hands
Crafting something of perfection
Each wood shaving falling away,
piece by piece,
gives way to a more and more beautiful masterpiece.
But halfway through,
he sits, and he rests.
The creation still stands on the workbench, incomplete.
Time goes on,
and on, and on…. yet the unhatched egg of a figurine still remains.
And one day, the carver again takes it into his hands.
“Finally, your time has come”
He sits back, and he widdles, and widdles….and widdles.
The wooden sculpture at last takes its final form.
And although it was finished last,
and he had made hundreds of items in the past,
the piece that took the longest,
was much more precious than any other piece he had ever made before.

That old couch you grew up on,
broken down from the years.

An old handkerchief,
used to wipe away sweat and tears.

That doll you held as a child,
something so dear to you,
when you were still so sweet and mild.

A season you rely on,
like the spring when it comes every year.

A friend you can cry on,
that sheds away every fear.

A parent you can call,
when you’re just tired of it all.

A song that stays in your heart.
A thread that strings life together.
It is the feeling of something that stays,
the beauty of realizing the reliability of forever.

In my sentimentality,
I’ve felt the full vitality,
of absolute inner joy.

And now I see you,
and you see me too,
and I think I see a life,
where I grow old with you.

Maybe
It was the way
Your neon eyes
Lit up in mine
And the world
Glowed a
Kaleidoscope of
Rainbow colours

Maybe
It was being
Wrapped in your
Bronze arms
And feeling so
Very safe
So warm
Next to you

Maybe
It was grey tears
Comforted by your
Soothing voice
That cheers me on
Rubbing out the dull
Rendering me
Sunshine yellow

Maybe
It was being
Called beautiful
Because I was like
Poetry and sunsets
Great towering mountains
Pretty just
Didn't do justice

Maybe
It was our
Midnight phone calls
And feeling like
I could scrape the
Deep blue canvas sky
And twirl amoung
The blinking stars

Maybe
It was all of it
Mixed like
Paint on an
Artists palette
Pinks, reds, oranges,
Spelling out a lone word
Love.