Tender thread that binds the heart so tight,
Yet loosens in the quiet of the night.
A trembling breath, a raw, unguarded gaze,
Where shadows dance in vulnerability's haze.

To feel exposed, as if the world lays bare
The fragile chords of all you hold with care.
No armour shields, no walls to hide behind,
Just fleeting whispers of a soul confined.

Yet, in this trembling state of soft despair,
A beauty blooms, unmatched, beyond compare.
For vulnerability, a sacred art,
Is where the truth resides within the heart.

It is the crack that lets the light seep in,
A gentle call to shed the faceless skin.
To stand unmasked, though shaken to the core,
And offer up the wounds that we deplore.

The strength it takes to let the world behold,
The fragile lines within your story told.
Is bravery in its most tender form,
A quiet storm within the raging storm.

For when the tears fall freely, unrestrained,
And fears no longer fight to be contained.
A space is carved where healing dares to grow,
A fertile ground where love begins to flow.

Oh, vulnerability, thy paradox,
A fragile strength that no chain ever locks.
To feel so open is to feel alive,
For in that softness, spirits learn to thrive.

So fear not, heart, the moments you feel weak,
For in that trembling lies the truth you seek.
Let courage rise through cracks and shadows deep,
And in your openness, your soul shall leap.

Awake, dear soul, as the dawn softly calls,
Through the veil of the night, the light gently falls.
With whispers of purpose, the morning begins,
A sacred refrain from the depths within.

"I matter," you murmur, and the world leans to hear,
Your essence, a symphony, vibrant and clear.
In the arms of self-love, your heart finds its grace,
A radiant glow time cannot erase.

"I am worthy," the mantra, a steadfast decree,
An echo of truth in eternity's sea.
Your value, unshaken, stands tall as the sun,
A luminous thread in the weave just begun.

"I have a great purpose," the universe hums,
A celestial promise of what’s yet to come.
Through beauty and abundance, you brightly shine,
A beacon of hope, both earthly and divine.

"I have a gift," you proclaim with pure might,
A treasure that dazzles in the soft morning light.
Your joy is your birthright, your spirit set free,
"I deserve to be happy," a bold, sacred plea.

With wisdom and courage, your journey unfolds,
"I am wise, I am learning," your story retold.
Intelligent thoughts, like rivers, take flight,
Guiding your path through shadow to light.

"I am healing," you chant, and the wounds start to mend,
"I am evolving," your anthem, the truth you defend.
Creating, manifesting, with heart open wide,
A life rich with wonder, your soul’s chosen guide.

These mantras, like seeds, in your spirit now grow,
Morning’s promise of love in your being bestows.
A better life rises, the dawn’s sweet embrace,
Infused with your essence, your infinite grace.

In the quiet hum of a world that rushes,
Where footfalls echo on broken stone,
A voice still sings in the hush of hushes,
A heart still beats, though left alone.

Oh, cruel hands of time and trial,
They twist, they turn, they seek to mold,
Yet something lingers, tender, vital,
A warmth untouched by bitter cold.

The world, in its grumble, its clatter, its din,
Would etch its sorrow upon your skin,
Would carve you sharp, would make you steel,
Would teach you nevermore to feel.

But hush, dear soul, and hold your ground,
Let not the world make you unkind,
For in the hush of love profound,
Softness reigns, yet never blind.

Take pride in light the world denies,
In sugar spun from sorrow’s thread,
In laughter ringing under skies,
That some might call a dream long dead.

Oh, wear your sweetness like the dawn,
Let cynics sneer, let shadows call,
For even when the world moves on,
A heart that loves outlives them all.

We gather in crowds and whisper of silence,
yearning for touch, yet wincing at hands.
The streets are swollen with voices we summon,
and still, we retreat to the rooms of our minds.

Oh, the terrible weight of desire and distance!
To love so fiercely, yet long to be free,
to build up our houses, then dream of the desert,
to drown in a sea of all we let be.

I have walked between wanting and not,
two corridors lit with a flickering doubt,
one draped in the velvet of intimate longing,
the other a door I am always without.

What a riddle it is, to be so divided,
to hold out a hand and wish it unseen,
to ache for the warmth of an offered embrace,
and shrink from the shadow it leaves in between.

Perhaps we are all just echoes of echoes,
laughing in rooms where no one can hear,
writing our names on the walls of each other,
then leaving, before they can ever appear.

Life is beauty, and life is pain,
a dance of loss, a song of gain.
It shimmers gold, then fades to gray,
a fleeting dawn, a waning day.

It lifts us high with whispered bliss,
soft lips that touch, a lover's kiss.
Yet breaks us, bends us, tests our will,
a mountain steep, a climb uphill.

It thrills, it aches, it sparks, it wanes,
it hums in blood, it roars in veins.
It is laughter, it is weeping,
a waking dream, a midnight creeping.

It is the light that warms the skin,
the fear of losing all within.
It is the hand that pulls you near,
the shadowed doubts, the strangling fear.

It is the mundane, the slow, the still,
the silent hours, the quiet will.
It is the rush, the reckless run,
the roaring fire, the setting sun.

Yet if we never knew the fall,
would heights be precious things at all?
If never lost in tempest deep,
would peace be something worth to keep?

The jagged path, the winding lane,
the burning loss, the hard-won gain,
they carve the heart, they shape the soul,
they make the fractured spirit whole.

So let us rise, though winds may chide,
embrace the waves, the turning tide.
For life's not meant to be a line,
its peaks and valleys make it shine.

In shadowed streets where silence weeps,
And echoes chase the feet of time,
A whisper hums where sorrow sleeps,
“Stay soft,” it sings, “though life may climb
Its thorn-wrought walls and break your skin,
Do not let hardness settle in.”

For pain may press with quiet might,
May twist the dawn into the night,
But you, dear soul, are not your ache,
Not every bruise, not every break.
You are the hush between the rain,
The breath that rises after pain.

So let it hurt. Let teardrops fall
Like silver bells down sorrow’s wall.
Let it swell and let it sting,
Grief is a wild, untamed thing.
But let it heal. The heart, it knows
How even shattered gardens grow.

And when the ache begins to fade,
Like fog dissolved by morning’s blade,
Let it go—release its hold,
The stories pain has tried to mold.
You are more than what you bear,
A flame still dancing through despair.

So rise, as mist that greets the sun,
As rivers do when thaw has come.
Rise soft, rise fierce, rise with your grace,
The world may harden—but not your face.
Smile with the soul that’s weathered through,
There’s still a bloom inside of you.

In the hush between the ticking hours,
Where shadows curl beneath the tea-stained light,
I see you - yes, even now,
Even when you think the world has looked away.

You move through mornings like whispered prayers,
Gathering crumbs of courage from yesterday’s dreams,
Shouldering kindness like a well-worn coat,
Soft at the seams, but still stitched strong.

I see your effort,
Not the loud, banner-waving kind,
But the quiet heroism of simply rising,
Of showing up,
Of washing one more dish,
Smiling once more for someone else.

There is a grace in your weariness,
A dignity in your doubt.
You matter more than the world dares to tell you,
More than the mirror reveals
Or the silence admits.

Be gentle, dear traveller of tangled days.
You are not meant to outrun the dark
But to carry a candle within it.
And I,
With all the stars I can summon,
See you.