Until you remember
Until you remember who you were
before the world told you who to be.
That person?
They've been waiting for you.
So breathe.
And begin again.
And again.
And again.
You are the point.
Your existence—
this beautiful,
complicated,
sacred,
impossible existence—
is the point.
There is a version of you that exists in the pauses
between your heartbeats,
in that microscopic moment when inhale
You spend so much time being a human doing
that you forget you were born a human being—
worthy before you earned a single thing,
whole before you fixed a single crack,
enough before the world ever told you you needed to prove it.
And I know, I know the weight you carry,
how some mornings your bones
How the mirror sometimes shows you a stranger
wearing your face,
and you wonder when you stopped
recognizing your own eyes.
But here's what they don't tell you:
Let yourself be gloriously,
messily, courageously human.
Let yourself take up space with your joy, your confusion,
your becoming.
Because you are not a finished product— ?you are a living poem still being written,
and some of the most beautiful verses
come after the crossed-out lines.
You are the ocean learning it's allowed to have waves.
You are the seed splitting itself open to reach for sun.
You are every sunrise that said I will try again and meant it.
And yes, the world will keep spinning,
You are here. You are breathing.
You are enough.
You have always been enough.
So when they ask you what you're made of,
tell them:
"Moonlight and mercy,
coffee and comebacks,
prayers and profanity,
the kind of love that refuses to quit
even on the days I want to quit on myself."
Tell them you are the author of your own becoming,
the artist of your own healing,
the architect of a life
that looks nothing like anyone else's blueprint
and that's exactly the point.
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