You are poetry,
Please treat yourself as such.
I know that their is luxury in safety,
In sanctuary and retreat.
I understand that there is comfort in the mundane and prosaic,
But hear me when I say that you are a song waiting to be sung,
Hundreds of notes suspended,
ready to leap with wreckless abandon,
ready to fall wherever they may,
You are music.
Every cell in your body is poised with potential,
Deaf to the call of calamity.
There is a you made up of a million colors and words and melodies,
Intrepid, veracious, bold.
You are meant for so much more than predictable certainty.
Give in to ambition, desire, passion.
You were meant to explore.
We have been shaped into creatures of habit,
Our nature forgotten through trial and time.
Give yourself space,
Breath in the ocean air,
The open air,
The life and light of all the have and will be,
You are part of the world.
Hear me.
You are poetry.
Essential,
Pure.
Born to fly.