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.