Thank you Ivy for giving hope a chance. For finding that you have more light in you than you ever thought you needed.
For letting yourself love and be loved. For giving God the chance to heal your beautiful soul.
For letting yourself be so full of joy that you have enough for your tribe. For being there for me when no one else was.
For letting yourself be understood, by yourself and letting go of pretense.
You look into my eyes each morning and assure me I will be okay. I am beauty. You amaze me every day darling.
I love you forever. This is for you.
Sweeter than you will ever know, because you struggle to believe what you’ve been told.
Stronger than a thousand sunsets, you are my moon. I long to romance you for eternity.
As I write this to let you know that I will be with you for now and always.
I choose to make you mine.
One of the most beautiful things has to be those sweet smiles you share with yourself.
Smiling at the blue sky, or your phone.
At a private joke.
At how awesome you are.
Remember those smiles when you are down.
When you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see, remember that there is more to you than your image.
I am starting to accept that the highs and lows don’t matter as much as what I think about myself.
No matter how much weight I gain or lose, how I do my hair, what I wear, how I speak, where I am…
I matter. Amidst the chaos, difficulty, boredom and stickiness of healing from something I don’t understand. I am hopeful.
Because once in a while I look up, and feel the corners of my mouth rising up to a slight smile, and I remember just how beautiful I am.
I put a spell on you, cause you’re mine.
Pull me closer as we slow dance. I dance on your feet and giggle.
Slow dancing in a burning room comes to mind, it’s a moment I can’t forget.
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather dissappear into, Littlebird.
Into your eyes, I fall forever.
I’m still there, stuck on you.
We kiss and the moonlight, the light from my laptop, the lights from our neighbour’s apartment, land on our skin, we glisten.
As we sink into the hardwood floor, together.
When is something beautiful enough to sell?
When does a hobby become a source of income?
I read that you shouldn’t put pressure on your artistic passion to make me money.
I don’t know if that’s true.
Anyway, here is something beautiful I made, when I had enough beauty in me and it spilled over onto my hands.