“From each scar today bloom the flowers of a kinder tomorrow.”

When I met my darkness clouds | swirled the night sky | refracted light danced in the wild eyes | freedom came for me.

I don’t want the world but I want you in mine.

I will remain soft in a world marked by hardness.

You were waiting for the sunset while I was longing for the moonrise.

If hearts are our homes, why do we let others break windows and throw stones?

Whole, loved and worthy just as you are.

You are already more than enough.

Don’t reorient yourself to fit in to an upside down world.

Let’s get perfectly lost recklessly joyful, let’s rest a while in this sweet reverie.

Love me as a storm would rage full force or not at all.

You keep planting sympathy in rows meant for empathy and I’m here picking weeds with tears in my eyes.

Poetry runs through tired veins reviving once sleeping souls.

Tend to your own garden and watch the beauty you begin to see in others.

Less rushing, more lingering. Less distraction, more noticing. Less comparison, more gratitude.

Stars fell in our eyes the night sky our canvas, we painted the moon red.

I was always looking at you.

We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting.

I was born with music inside of me, and that was the first flower that bloomed on my tree, but I was the highest key in my school and also the lowest key, seen?

The morning glory which blooms for an hour differs not at heart from the giant pine, which lives for a thousand years.

Flowers don’t worry about how they’re going to bloom. They just open up & turn toward the light & that makes them beautiful.

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.

If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. All the stars are a-bloom with flowers.

People deal too much with the negative, with what is wrong. Why not try and see positive things, to just touch those things and make them bloom?

If your heart is a volcano, how shall you expect flowers to bloom?