woman standing on cliff with birds flying under sea

You, Young One, Have So Much Life To Live

Lay low, Young One, let your soul repent.
Relent less. Repeat more.
Give in to your urges, what they ask you to feel.
Hold on to the moment your mind tells you to hold.
Hold it, hold still. Let me reach deep inside you.
Let me pull out what you needn’t know exists.

Your heart is weary, Young One.
Your mind wanders.
You ask for God but don’t believe in him.
You ask for solitude but crave touch.

Bewildered by the blues.
Fascinated by remorse.
Encapsulated by honesty, loyalty, lust.
It calls for you to know more.

To feel yourself give in,
dig holes under your walls
and crawl through them to safety.

But who is on the other side?
You can’t see a soul.
There is none available for you at this time.
But don’t you see?

The souls you seek are behind you,
pushing you forward,
Go, Young One. Frolic free into the night.
You earned the moon, you shot down the sun.
Carry it with you as you scream for joy, for sadness, whichever you’ll have.

You, Young One, have so much life to live.
You have so much to see, to learn, to know.
Let it be or just let it die.
Don’t force, you hate the feeling.
Allow your moments of weakness,
embrace your moments of strength.

You don’t have to know it all
or whisper the words to your desires.
Don’t kill your fantasies of fulfilling love.
You are worthy of them and they of you.

By yourself be true, to thyself believe.
Go down the road to the place where you stand alone.
Stare into the distance as far as your eyes will take you,
ask the questions you have no answers to,
and expect no answer.
Accept that as truth.

Young One, you are so callous.
You have so much fear in knots of bravery.
Iron them out on a sheet of glass.
Print them across your forehead for all to see.
You don’t have to be so brave.
You don’t have to let it lie.

Lie awake at night and cherish time.
Time you take to let it eat you up
and spit you out into a world you mustn’t fear.

Go now. Be still but move.
Believe but hold on to the memory.
The memory of this moment,
where your fingers speak the truths
of your spirit in despairing knowledge,
desperately trying to reach you from an unknown source.

Let it come to you in solitude
as you grasp the world you live in
and wonder what it all is for,
every day of your little life in this big, big place.
Every day you let the sun wash over you through curtains drawn,
too bright to tolerate.
Another day gone, another moment learned.

We try. We try together, apart.
When you cry, cry hard.
Try hard. Or don’t.
It doesn’t matter.
It only matters if you make it so.

What does this all mean?
You ask as you write the words.
Nothing. It’s all nonsense.
Like gibberish, just words blocked together,
forming sentences that mean nothing.

Where is the true meaning?
Will it be known 20,000 years from now,
in a literature book no one reads anymore?

It all feels uncertain and certainly so.
So what now, Young One?
Who will you choose to be and why?
Is the point really that you don’t have to choose?
You just have to be her, and be happy inside of her.

Here you are.
Walk in.
Take off your grievances.
Put down your open wounds.
All that you seek is here around you.
Open your eyes.

I have hyper-extended elbows and they weird people out, which I find amusing.

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