Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can never hurt you, physically. Words can’t be stitched up, leaving a faint scar in three to six weeks. Words can’t be removed with relief of tweezers or the cold lather of numbing cream. Words are a verbal slap, leaving pain long after the swelling goes down. They create a label, a definition, a restriction of who you are. Even if you don’t believe them, even if they depict the old you, words are a stamp you can’t seem to escape.
You will always remember when someone asked why your tooth was discoloured, why your laugh cracks the way it does, why you’re selling yourself for a simpler life. You will always hold onto the idea that the bad words will follow while the good words are gone in the breath they are said.
The pictures in your cubical prove that happiness isn’t a paycheck, a Christmas party, or a dress down Friday. Happiness is the grass your family lays on, the yoga lessons you rush to after work, the pizza tradition you cling to, every Friday night. It’s the journal entries you keep at three a.m, the guitar lessons you apologize for ahead of time, the Netflix shows you binge watch on a rainy Sunday morning.
You have a job beyond rush hour and cafeteria lines. You have a job to live effortlessly. A job to live happy.
There’s a way to be rich doing what you love but for as long as you look at fabric lined walls, with lifeless eyes and a painful routine, the pictures in your cubical will remind you of the chances you didn’t take. They will absorb your possibilities. Your wasted potential. They will remind you that you’re there because your heart may speak the loudest but your head plays the safest.
To lose you is to admit defeat to a world that works against us. A world offended by simple love. To lose you is to hate the universe for the happiness it takes to soon. The futures it cuts too short. I offer to lose you time and time again; hoping fate will tire and move on. Turns out fate has those same plans for me.
Fate has no patience. No hesitance. No we’ll see how it goes. No mercy on the love letters or the people who sign them. Fate gives you a box of tools and the hands to use them. Gives you people to love and the hands to hold them.
Fate’s a coincidence that works out. A consequence meant to last. This is the last time I’ll lose you, as I fight an impossible battle but as fate has promised, this will one day make sense.
We remember the seconds before a kiss, before a crash, before a life-changing matter. We care about the seconds that affect us, change us, do something for us.
We strive to live life to the fullest, to live every second like it’s our last, but if every second were to be so special, full of memorable moments, it would no longer stand out from average. It would be just another second, mixed up with the rest.
We value seconds like we should value the people who fill them.
If we fill our lives with many people, how can we know who the special ones are? The ones that will affect us, change us, do something for us. The ones worth spending seconds on.
Value triggers greed. We want more. We want perfection; but the more people we have in our lives, the less seconds we have to give them. They will no longer stand out from average and we will no longer know the difference.
Your childhood blanket that once doubled as a shield withers into threads. The house you grew up in acts as a home for a new family, making memories in place of yours. Your parents are a phone call away but there’s no spot in their bed for you to crawl into. There’s no ice cream in the fridge, served with the promise to make everything better.
But regardless of the cruel world that is adulthood, there is hope. There is reassurance that people amongst us are wearing sincere smiles inspired by the innocence in life. There is love after love; there is life after loss. So don’t lose your youth or you’ll lose your mind, for morning turns to night as our age is wasted in time.
They say dating is a numbers game, leaving no hope for the girl that can’t settle. You see something you want, you forfeit your emotions and more often then not, you get nothing in return. It’s not your fault you’re holding out, waiting for someone worth loving. Waiting for someone willing to figure out your connect the dots.
Don’t let your guard down. Don’t cut your dreams short. Don’t let go of your overall. One day someone will put an end to your doubts. One day you’ll look into someone’s eyes and see where you stand with them and the thought of standing alone will never again make sense.
You don’t want to breakdown because you don’t want to challenge the people around you. You don’t want to see who would be there; you just want to believe they would all be.
You may mean the world to them, but no one’s life stops when yours does. You want them to push you, comfort you, convince you there’s good you can’t see. Maybe they can’t keep telling you things will be okay. They can’t call every lunchtime or skip every dinner. They can’t give you expectations that they’ll always be there because sometimes they won’t be. Sometimes your call will go unanswered. Your mind will be left to wander. You don’t want to breakdown because you know; sometimes the idea of someone has to be enough.
You can’t believe the world looks at you any different then the way your mirror does. Your self-image sits as a devil on your shoulder, whispering critique and hate.
You lay your clothes out the night before, shopping at the same stores they do. You buy extra promising foundation, hoping the haunting remains of your teen years will soak into your skin. Your hair won’t grow the way you want it to, your body won’t shape your clothes the way you wish they would.
You do everything to hide your imperfections. To erase the things you hate. To battle the impurities you hide behind, day after day.As hard as it is to believe, you’re more then a number on the scale. More then a number of likes on a picture. So be proud to be a paint-by-number and they’ll still look at you like art.
Stop and look around or you’ll miss a puppy see it’s first flower, or a baby take it’s first steps. You’ll miss the teen on the bus give their seat to an elderly women and your neighbor will hold open the door. You’ll miss one homeless person share their sandwich with another and you’ll watch a child’s face light up, with a new teddy in their arms.
You’ll look at your feet because life doesn’t deserve your smiles. You have the ability to be selective. To see what you want – to want what you know. And with every step you’ll remind yourself of heartbreak and pain. The humans that start wars and the evil on the news. You look down to avoid a truth you can’t stand. The world is full of messed up people. Broken people, but for as long as you let yourself turn your head to reality, you’re letting yourself be one of them.
You spend your days left to wonder where you went wrong, what you said in error. The ridiculous regrets that exhaust your mind. If your life has gone wrong and disappointment is constant, realization is the bittersweet battle. You now have the power of hindsight. The ability to use your past to revise your future.
Unfortunately, hindsight stirs anxiety. You over think the things you wish could be over and forgotten about. You think everyone remembers your mistakes without realizing they’re trying to erase their own. It’s an uneasy circle. You must choose to take control of your life or live in a distorted reality. You must never take for granted the power of a second or the power of a second chance.