Taking pride in

My clean room
My folded laundry
My books, bursting with sticky notes
My calendar, color-coded
(Though I don't update it, it's still nice to look at)
My vase filled with flowers, even if they're plastic
The candles on the shelf, one lit, always burning...

Shiny mirrors and scrapbook photos
Strung up fairy lights and a made up bed
Clean floors with supplies tucked away
Dishes in cabinets, spices filling the rack

A grocery list on the fridge,
A book of recipes I've handwritten
Poems in the living room, a guitar by my bed
Running shoes by the door, for early mornings ahead

All the things that make up me:
My dreams, my goals
The work I do every day

A none of it has anything to do with you.

Talked over and
Ignored,
One word answers
With days in between

Asked for favors
Taken advantage of
My generosity
A flaw, it seems

Again and again,
A quick apology
I'm quick to forgive
But the fuse is burning

Breaking down my walls
But eroding my patience
I dismiss and defend
Because it's the role I play

Over and over,
I say it's okay.

It's okay because
I didn't need you anyway.

Fighting the good fight
Is not easy, which seems self-explanatory
But there's a reason it is a "fight":
It takes great effort to spin reality
From the thread of your dreams.

Walking the narrow road
You must have faith in the summit.
The path is strewn with sharp sticks and rocks
You will not reach it unharmed.

Limping, hurting, you may even lose your way
The trees seem to grow taller once the sun has set
But if you are moving uphill,
Against the struggle, and the pain,
You are moving in the right direction.

Just because you are doing good
Doesn't mean it will feel easy.
Even the best works require struggle.

In fact,
It is the worst path that is the most enjoyable
The downhill gives the wide sweeping view,
With easy steps worn by many other passerby
Generations who were tempted to leave the narrow path:

Keep fighting the good fight.
Though you will struggle in the dark
Have faith in the last sunrise
You will watch crest over the summit.

Decide who you are, every day
Shaping your life like clay
Moldable, resilient
So even a dip or a crack
Can be smoothed over,
Just with some time.

A vase, a sculpture
Anything your heart desires,
The world is your oyster
To fill with platitudes, or cynicisms
To each their own.

But you should know,
It may bring some comfort
That there is paint in the back closet, and
The tools are cleaned in the cupboard
For when you want to repaint,
Reset, retry, rebuild.

It takes time to build habits
Character,
Heart.
But these towers, once built
Will reach the stars
And never fall.

I think I am too analytical for love.
Which is contrary, startlingly so, considering
How deeply I have loved before.

I think it may be a fluke, the times I've thought I've loved
They say thinking you have something is sometimes
The same as having it: to be true,
It hurts the same once it's gone.

But maybe I am a fool,
Fooling myself in these fools errands

Searching for something I cannot allow myself to have
I am too analytical, I focus on the small things
To make excuses, and find reasons for dismissal
Simultaneously fighting for reasons
To love, and to let go
Because I'm not sure where the path goes
And the uncertainty is terrifying.

So I analyze, and pick apart
And keep it all to myself
Hoping and praying but with no end to the sentence because
I don't even know what I'm asking for.

For things to work out -
To continue? To end? To end in heartbreak, or in relief?
To last in treachery, through deceit, to lead
To peace? If I'm hopeful.

If anyone could break through my programming
Like waking a robot back to life, bringing sentience and emotion
Where it was once quiet and dark inside
I'd hope it's you.
Because there's a chance it could be, and
I've found no one else who could.
I don't even know what's there, anymore,
What could be brought to light?

Maybe you would only wake me to hurt me,
Or to use me
Maybe I should be willing to risk it to see the light at all

I am in a world I don't understand
And I am scared
But I'm willing to let you try.

I'm waiting for certainty
Surety, that moment of stillness
When everything stops,
You can't take your eyes off them
And you just know the world is right, again.

Isn't that what they say?
Something new should feel this way
Shouldn't feel this way
Uncertain, unsteady, questioning, flustered questions
Piquing my anxiety, my mind racing
Yet my unrelenting heart still skips a beat
Tormenting, unfaithful feelings
I wish I could be sure, before I want more
But something in my head is disconnected, and it stutters my steps
I'm stuttering in my words

I don't know how to explain myself
Speaking, critiquing
Saying my own words back at me
I wish I could feel the things I'm waiting for
So I could stop waiting, and instead
Just feel.

I'm hesitant to hope
Caution tempered by the memory of hot stovetops
Still felt in my fingertips.

But I know
From the chances I've lost,
The opportunities I've let pass me by
That the only way to live a life
Is to let the windows open up
And lean out to smell the roses -

Don't live under the weight of,
"It's the hope that kills you."
Be freed to seek new answers, let life be open-ended
Ask yourself: "Do you believe in miracles?"