To hope is to risk

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The big secret is that
as much as we
posture and pose,
we plan, predict,
proactively produce.
Play pretend.

We’re all afraid.
We’re all lonely.
We’re all wanting to be
taken care of,

We think the more we
polish our faces and
promise ourselves
with the mantra of the day
that we’ll feel a certain way,
we all feel like imposters

Like we were called and
maybe that person meant
to call someone else.
Like we were given space,
but maybe they meant to fill it
with someone else.
People make mistakes.
Maybe you were mistakenly
chosen. Maybe it’s all a joke,
and you’re the punchline.
Everyone’s laughing,
and you can’t find your

Doesn’t that suck?

Doesn’t it flipping stink that
we’re such jerks to ourselves?
Sometimes I want to scream,
because people can’t see
how beautiful and so utterly
abounding with light they are.

But then I go home
and realize that I’ve had blinders
on myself. I can’t see myself,
the entire world is 20/20,
and there’s a speck of dust
obstructing my vision.

But can I tell you that despite
it all, I hope. Or I try to hope.

I know that hope is a risk,
and to give up, give in,
give myself the worst of it,
it would be easier,
more dramatic.
But to hope is to risk,
to look up, to open doors
and step out, even though
we’re all fleshy, dough balls
of human beings, and who
knows what could happen.

But we hope.
Because somewhere deep
within us, somewhere all
around us, in the specific
colors layering the sky,
the individual drops of rain
tearing through the clouds,
the incredible way we could
all look at the same thing and
see vastly different things,

the secret that we’re all avoiding
is we’re all chosen
to be exactly this.

And we avoid it,
because to be chosen
is to be accepted for all
the glittery, happy parts
of us, along with
the cruddy,
ugly parts of us.

And that sounds
And it does.
My logic scoffs
at the thought of it.
My mind fears
the possibility of it.
But my heart,
it longs
for the truth of it.

My heart hopes.

Written by

Storytelling for a more empathetic world. I like words and people. Oh and butter, cultured butter. Poetry, UX Design, Humanity.

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