The Joy Scribbles

And on some night moon says to me "There are many things in this world bigger than you. Many places you will not go. You will not see. There are hidden things you will never feel. Like my effect on the tide. Not unless you let go of fear. " I did not know yet what she was asking of me. But look at me now. Look at how bright I shine and how big I've grown. Look at how strong I am. Look at how quickly I unraveled the bits of doubt that bound themselves to me. Weighing me down. An Ugly sweater on a hot day. Look at my fears. Look at them drowning in my knowledge that, There are things that I will not see. Will not feel. Will not be. If I am not fearless.

Dear anyone, I am alone again and for some reason it is not as free or burdening as I always thought it would be. Only different in that there is no one to hide myself behind, I am forced to myself for who I am. When I wake I cannot help but notice how much better I sleep. How much deeper it is. It is more filling and I no longer wake up thirsty for one more hour. And when I go to bed I spend time staring at the bits of me that I have been told no one would love in the mirror. I no longer pick at them in disgust and I have started to remember where I got almost every single scar on my body. I am unbothered by them and have begun to giggle at the patchwork of stories crawling all over me. I have noticed that there are annoying things about myself that I love. Things like how I run out of breath when I laugh. And boy do I laugh. I start right at the bottom of my diaphragm and I rumble and my head falls back and I can't find two fucks to give who watches me. Except me because I

i. There is no particular reason why I have decided to pack away the little threads of me you have unraveled countless times. No particular reason I have tied them in knots and plaited them into braids except maybe that there was little bit of me left every time you left and I am suddenly sure that whatever bit of me is left is enough. ii. I met a boy. He has decided it is his mission to make me sleep with painful cheeks from the blushing I do every time he calls me beautiful. I cannot stop to think how at this age every body has loved passionately already and if he thinks of his first love as often as I think of you. iii. why does everyone keep expecting me to crumble at the thought of you? You are no particular place in my mind today. Or yesterday. You are so far. so long gone I do not remember your smell, or the feel of your hands. Only that at one point you were the beginning. I am now sure this is the ending. iv. I do not know where I began. Only that the dirty muck I ha