scars do bleed into wounds again,
even if they have clotted,
when they are scratched in itch and immense pain.
for somehow we remember
again we live out what
we once knew
and those precious moments
are stacked away
and scratched on our hearts
yet somehow we forget
Over time, our foundation cracks.
And yet, we still keep going.
With dents and splinters and broken pieces.
We keep living and breathing and smiling.
And that, dear reader, is a beautiful miracle that so many miss.
That despite our ragged edges, we're still here.
We look for miracles in impossible things. The blind seeing. The paralyzed walking... But sometimes miracles are those small things we take for granted. It's waking up another day. Breathing another breath. Smiling when your heart thought it never would again. It's hearing that song you hadn't heard in forever and feeling like you're, once again, home. It's living when you thought you forgot how to. Those are miracles, those are the things that change the world.
Why? Because change starts when we do things, and we do things when we feel most alive.
Dear Random Strangers,
Your sideways glances and whispered remarks have been noticed.
What you think has no effect actually means the world.
I would like to ask you...
To please stop judging me because of the marks on my wrist,
Allow me the chance to tell you my story,
Before you put the damaged book in the trash.
I know my corners are dog-ear,
Yes some pages are ripped,
And my cover is torn and scratched.
But looks can be deceiving.
Random Stranger, I know we haven't met
But every time one person disregards me,
It becomes more easy to believe I am trash,
And it makes me want to throw myself away...
— The End —