I’ve learned that you always have to make a mess to create something beautiful
Like the way all if the dirt doesn’t quite fit back into the hole you dug to plant the flower bulb in
Or how hours after you’ve finished painting you’re still finding blue under your fingernails and white by your elbow
And sometimes the mess isn’t so fun to make
Often you face a mess you don’t know how to clean
Some messes take years, decades even, to wash off, to wipe up, straighten
Change, uprooting may feel bad, wrong
It’s scary and painful and it seems like hell at times
But never doubt it’s purpose, it’s season, the way it grows and betters you
It makes you beautiful