Look at the stars.
See how they never cease to
glow even on the darkest nights.

Be like those stars, child.

Look at the moon.
See how though it has no
light of its own it
refuses to leave you without bringing you some
light in the dark.

Be like the moon, child.
But most of all,

May you have the joy of your mother, for
her smile can light up a million black suns
and her laugh
can warm
even the coldest heart.

May you have her loathing for evil and
despise injustice like she does.
I hope you'll take up a sword and
fight for the truth alongside her, for
she fears no one
except
the only One who should be feared.

May you have the strength of your father
and walk with integrity like he does.
May you have his humble spirit,
his patient heart,
and his strong arm.

May you aim for excellence,
and shoot your arrows
straight and true.
I hope you learn to walk on waters
with a faith like your father's, and never
ever
look at
the threatening waves.

Look at the sky, child.
No, higher
       higher
       higher
because more than any other
I pray that you'll be


just like your Father.

Sometimes all it takes is one word. One word to completely inspire paragraphs of poems, letters, journal entries. Most times, though, take much more than that. It takes a proper environment. That's one of the reasons why I've changed up my room. There is now a stack of books on my desk, then all of my film cameras. On my window I placed mason jars, a clock, rocks from the beach and tiny candles. I took down my curtains to let in more light. I'm going to push myself to be happier, more positive. Good things are coming and I can feel it. It's autumn and the air is getting more crisp and my sweaters are breaking out again. I just passed one year of being clean from self harm. Now, I'm going to stop skipping meals. I know I can do it. I'm going to stop hating the scar on my forehead from third grade chicken pox. I'm going to love every stretch mark my doctor told me was caused by rapid weight loss, every scar I inflicted on myself, and every bone that pops out of my body (especially my back). The veins that are visible in my wrists and the back of my hands are going to get more love, too. The way they move when I write a poem, inspires me to love myself. Not in an arrogant way, but just to be at peace with my appearance. No more painting my nails black, either. I will dance in my room when I want to, jump on my bed, spin in circles, cry, laugh, scream, when it feels right. I am going to love the 12:08 mood swings and the sudden gush of new vocabulary I need to memorize for my poems. I am going to work hard and put my soul into everything I do. I am going to start making art. I am going to buy more cameras, nicer clothes. Clothes that show who I am. No clothes to hide what I hate on my body. I will love the fact that in the middle of the night, my duvet is my best friend. I will love with all of my heart that maybe it's naive, but I have so much hope for the future. Everything will be okay.