that's mrs. mediocrity to you

Or struggle vs. acceptance, and how to know which one to adopt.

These days I lean towards simple, where less always feels like more,
and grace, where struggle always dresses in silence.

And I’m not sure it’s wisdom.
I fought life so hard when I was young,
these days I prefer to acquiesce to the nature of opposites.

The good with the bad, the light with the dark,
the tears with the laughter.

It’s not giving up, it’s honing in.

It’s not compliance so much as forgiveness.

It’s arms wide open to whatever comes.

Life rains down upon us and washes us clean.
Again and again and again.

We live in the dust and we live in the dirty.

And then comes the downpour and we live some more.

Soaked and sodden, a bit downtrodden.

Bending in the wind that did not break us,
the breeze that dries our hair,

the sun that warms the shadows on our skin.

.

.

.

.

in a forest of kisses

a flock of geese

bow their heads

with a nod

to the sun

.

.

.

purple is the shape
of letting go

and blue is the beginning
of sacrifice

all the scars and torn edges
faded blooms and broken stems

form the canvas of whole
and the soft brush of plenty

as gold fills every sky
with perseverance

.

.

.

.

in the style

of me

.

.

.

.

the best place to be

.

.

.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. M.

.

.

.

And Happy Valentine’s Day to you.

Because celebrating love is always a good thing.

.

.

.

.

the promise

.

.

.

.

sometimes

letting go

really is

the best

option

.

.

.

the ghost of a bloom

holds the seed

of survival

.

.

.

.

.

whatever the weather

you can always

sing of sunshine

from your heart

.

.

.

.

even when

you feel spent

and fragile

you are scattering

tomorrow’s seed

.

.

.