31 days to coming home: some days.

31 days to coming home: some days.

Just think, while you’ve been getting down & out about the liars & the dirty, dirty cheats of the world, you could’ve been getting down to this sick beat.

My arms throbbing. Call it growing pains, at the age of 23 with the stature of a 15 year old, those kinds of miracles could get a girl a sorts of excited. & I can’t help but wonder what it means. You know, the same kind of meaning in which some highly influential person decided when your ear itches someone’s dishing some dirt on you. Or maybe that’s an itchy nose. I obviously rose above the influence.

But honestly, why do we care? Who decided that our time was worthy of being devoted to wondering what we had done recently that was so worth talking about, all because of an itch? Really.

There was a time when it would’ve ruined me. Not an itch, but hearing people’s whispers, watching their eyes roll back in their head, watching the weight on their hips shift, all because of me. I hated the idea that no matter what I did some people would never like me. That I could be one of those people you met & right off the bat, your bones ache to turn away, because you just don’t like me.

There were people that drove me out of jobs, simply because I couldn’t take one more of their condescending glances. There were places I wouldn’t go for the simple fact that I am more likely to run into them there than if I were to go somewhere else. There still are some days. But mostly, those days have been carried away, scattered in the wind. Those were the days I didn’t understand that those people were only hurting me so they didn’t have to be alone. Because, really, they are giving you their all, & all they are capable of giving you is what they are made up of. So if they’re bitter & unsatisfied, why would you rely on their words as if they are changing the story of your life?

They are no encyclopedia, love. Their opinions are not facts & misery loves company. That is all there is to remember. Because once you let this truth uproot everything in you that ever let their words stay, you’ll realize nothing they say is worth a toughened heart.

Their words are spoken hurt, child, & though this may be all that festers within them, it is not all that is within you. You carry beauty in your bones, radiating kindness, grace, & peace. & that, my love, is what calls you home. Joy calls your mind its home. Peace calls your lungs its home. Kindness calls your heart its home. This is you & you are home to some untamed, wild love. Don’t forget who you are. Come home.

It’s your turn, love. Break the silence. Spill your guts.

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