155. Clean-up Day!

Do I embrace being the calm your head may rest against, or the dork that speaks to the beat of your heart? If I have no voice to hear in the first place, does the me called upon matter? Agency only comes when I allow myself to be. Even if another pair of footsteps were to clement beside me, accountability is standing on my own two feet.

Why wait for the perfect person, when I can treat myself the way I wish to be with you?

I could carve my own growth. Spend time in the kitchen to prep for me. I'll get to the point where I cut out what doesn't satisfy my cravings.

Letting the seasons come to flavor the day afresh. I'll heat things until excitement boils, but won't forget a slow burn savored.

I plant myself in a garden of wishes. But I know La La Land will only keep ideas dancing. I rose to the challenge of weeding out unfertile ground. Let my hands bathe in Mother Nature to grow you a bed of flowers. I'm soothed by the shade of the tree I water.

Oh, won't you look at the mess I made? Surely not this. My clumsiness shalln't be swept under the rug. I have to suck it up and keep my home dustless.

"Can't forget the most important piece of my home," I mumble, staring into the mirror! Airing out dirty laundry won't do. Let me dispense the water to clean my filter. All this hard work has me tumbling rather heavy. I rest in the soil of a soft breeze brushing against my skin like a firm embrace wrapping itself around me.

The clouds come to my arms for me to hug, with a fluff and a flap pillowing against my face as decorations cover me. Let love cushion you to sink in. A tear swims as low as my hope that maybe someday, I'll be reciprocated too.

Even if my hand is never taken in by yours truly, allowing my heart to be held by my own reminds me of the finger you press against my lips, drawing the smile I share with the world.