Soapbox

I want the best for you I really do. I want everyone’s eyes to make love to you. You who sit alone crying on a bench, who shut the door and curse yourself. Secrets behind closed doors, everything bleeds.

And now you plunge into your inner blackness. And the logic of blackness is smothering. And now you’re waiting for the phoenix rising. There is an end in sight. There is an end in sight. You can’t see that end, but it is what is right.

I wish I could show you how big you are. You are a giant, an entire lake, an ocean, you have the unimaginable vastness of the universe between the trillionths of your atoms. You will outlive your contradictions. You will tame the dragon.

Never have I been so sure of an ultimate success. Oh the outcome was in doubt but I have the ace up my sleeve, and yes I’ve learned to shout. In this knife-edge uncertainty - grace is granted to those who act freely, unfettered by who suffers consequence or who gets the credit.

How often do you get a chance for newness? Each day. Every day. So take those lemons and make powerade.

There is an entire vocabulary passed down from centuries to describe your pain. You are in pain, and you believe you are alone in your pain, and the shame of being alone in pain is worse than the pain - that you are the only one with a broken heart.

(But I can’t trust you in your mood swings. When we subject others to our own problems, well, that is the source of all evil on this planet.)