“She is everything and nothing at all.”

My flower’s roots glue me down among the wet soil in which the thunder has stunned my growth. Maybe I’ve already grown through the storms and the sun is delayed in its rising.

It’s hard when all you want is the sky, chasing after the hues of pinks and blues, feeling that for once you’ve got a grip on clouds that swoosh through storms of your own. But it’s worse when you ask for the sun and receiving the soil stuck to your feet.

If you’re forced to walk on knives in a world where they’re sharpened, wear your best heels.

My headspace is a playground and I’m still delayed in its construction.

I am not sorry for the way I love. I am only sorry for loving people who haven’t a clue on how to love themselves.

If there’s no struggle, you haven’t struggled yet.

For being still can either bring one clarity or chaos. You decide what the silence is worth.

I no longer seek the love I think I deserve but rather the love I’ve always deserved.

I love the little things in life but when it comes to me, why do I find those little things about myself hard to love? I am everything I need.

I was in love with my own chaos, gripping tightly onto fantasies, falling into traps that swallowed me whole. I am in awe of how chaotic I am, as falling hard into my own trap saved me from who I became.

Are you only surrounding yourself with people because they add to your life or are you filling a void?

The beauty in the suffering is not the lack of love they have, it’s the depth of love they swam into that drowned them among their highest waters.

We start looking for approval from strangers when we feel we can’t approve of ourselves.

We are perfectly imperfect human beings.

If I were a garden and the seed were my soul, thus blooming is a process but I’m impatient.

You can’t appreciate the sunshine if you’ve never stood in the rain.