Our humanness has never tread lightly in our gardens.
Never been a singular moment.
Holds days that shame bleeds through to other pages.
While forgiveness sits in the uncomfortableness of not being seen.
Where those two share their tales of how the weather has gotten through.
How pain has shaped each of their voice’s.
Somehow building a strange companionship step by step.
And we take notice of how the loudness owns the story and the silence just shrugs.
Because one act of defeat will inspire another to come down the line too.
And its gotten easier and easier to not argue but to just let that stuff color.
To allow that aching melody to keep playing in the background.
Because its too dense for leniency in the cries of feeling everything and nothing at all.
Too challenging for the person buried under unyielding weight to be uncovered.
Too much falling into the misery that only humanness knows.
In the rain pouring onto the artist as well the artwork.
And for all of our days we have been following that movement not knowing that it’s the hardest way to walk any journey.
But guilt knows that we aren’t how we looked in the steps that shame demanded to name.
That we are lost in the structured information of words not gone because of moments.
That silence isn’t safe and skipping over that won’t make today tremble any less.
Because guilt knows that forgiveness leads to deeper repair while staying in park within that same story will continue to cost us happiness.
And while flowers won’t suddenly bloom, nor will we just love ourselves, struggles will get labeled as things to work with.
Bracing for falls won’t describe disposable.
Down won’t signify that things haven’t been handled well.
And pretending won’t make us cry as hard.
Some say it’s better to stand then it is to sit however when it comes to the layers in companionships, there’s no guarantee that standing won’t actually feed the hell.
That’s right, humanness doesn’t always tread tenderly and when it’s raining, the safety is our voice if it means we didn’t transplant shame where it didn’t belong.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
The place restless colors are no longer the solution for what we don’t know what to do with.
Because the pain has been carried and now we want to spend more time with happy.
And since there have been moments folded into with smiles, hope embraces that idea.
But then something happens and that upgrade silently falls under the weight of suffering.
Leaving the wonder of why shadows are always loading into experiences.
Why blame transitions if versions were left behind in what is supposed to be gone.
And why unhappiness still carries the theme that if it weren’t for being inadequit gardeners, happiness would bloom.
For there is more to it than days that gift smiles just as it is with those that receive debris.
So, gardens use thoughts about how some tomorrow will no longer be flooded by yesterday’s or even today’s tears in trying to regulate the weather.
And yet no matter how strong desire’s expectations are, survival refuses to stop dragging familiar along for safety.
Follows up with repeating distrust for the home that has failed to break free from the common messages its known.
And jumps into noursihing unhappiness through the yeses that are still the go to in a garden’s outline.
So, we dream of how happy we would be if magic suddenly made unhappy impossible in the future.
But what will we do with the graffiti that is already living comfortably on our pages?
How will we part ways with the versions of ourselves still trying to escape whatever moments?
And will fear no longer be a word that we know how to color so perfectly?
Because dragons still want their tunes of shame to be scored first as the repetitive soundtrack in our stories.
Still want to hide that we are limited in but not by moments.
Still want to be heard over the truth that guilt comes from actions or lack of but not from how our hearts go just because we forgot who we are in those spots.
And to silence that humiliation’s weather comes to life for the wrong yeses not for what we do.
Happiness is desirable because its the one place that we feel safe enough to not notice if anything is missing.
It’s raining now and if we are going to make it through, then there’s no more use for the yeses that can take a single moment and disturb a whole story.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Sometimes it’s not the moment but how that spot feels so deeply familiar.
Sometimes it’s not the path but the observation of war there.
Sometimes it’s not the words but their implied reduction that is unnerving.
Sometimes it’s not the story but the uncertainty that made the same choice.
All of those things and more using the freedom of speech within hand-painted homes.
Loudly holding the stage without acceptance or understanding being in the audience.
As if the weather has unfairly left the sun to be remembered as watching from the sidelines.
When all we wanted was to be good storytellers but unhappy came as it is in reciting what it sees as facts.
And minds were left unable to take note of better within the disorienting vacuum that grief has brought to the landscape.
With those limits being filtered through distracting lectures that honor the win and not the individual stepping along the way.
Labeling us with words in such a way that it’s hard to believe that they won’t continue their rampage until we somehow stop showing up as ourselves.
Movement that depletes happiness and camouflages it in places we haven’t even gotten to yet.
Setting us down with the news that we aren’t even welcome in our own homes because our gardens know things other than laughter.
We are, after all, not only sitting with the thoughts and feels of moments but have leaned into listening to the solitude of one-sided footage.
Not to the love that always remembers us no matter what but the one that only likes us when the weather is just right.
Not to the happy that nourishes grief’s needs but the one that longs to live without debris.
Not to the speech that supports the spaces left by afraid but the one that goes under every time fear gets ahold of colors.
But happiness doesn’t shout a chosen storyline, it simply breathes in the ease of love not being under-fire while unhappiness just omits the love buried deep in the root system of debris.
Forgetting that its still there, still waiting, still connected to us in the eeriness of the dark as it listens to our footsteps all around it.
Sometimes it’s not the story but the yes within words that makes big hearts unwelcome within their own homes.
But then there is another yes in those same words that knows that happiness is a contradiction because dancing with dragons makes it strong and swaying in the sun makes it soft.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Recent Comments