miniature.

we worry our brain cells dead and rub our hands together until our skin wears thin, only to find that the solution is as simple as listening to ourselves. we are constantly in battle, weighing the problems of the world on one palm, and our willingness to erase them on the other. we've found so many remedies, but we colour them invisible and lose them. maybe i am slowly realising if good is both the result and the answer, then it doesn't matter how many hurdles we need to smash out of our way, good is good. let's skip misinterpretation and consequence and pride, and let caring breathe a little. if something means something then hear it, embrace it and overwhelm yourself. stare hard at your bones, feel their hardness, and crack them open to expose a waxy cocoon of confusion, interference. it shelters us from rain but droplets of gold (ray!) too, and what are we if ignore everything, what do we become? life is ours to discount. let's allow ourselves to spill and splash and seep into the cracks of what we believe. 

let bullets hit you and show them how you heal, and throw balloons of dried blood back at it. serve your shield on a platter and chuck it at a porcelain wall and paint that wall your favourite shade of fuschia, struggle as you chuckle and you'll know we're made of water; as tender as we are tough.