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

*Part of the I wrote this for you series.**

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Remember what matters.
What really matters.

Fear can be informative, but don’t let it paralyze you.
Don’t it let it tell you what to do.
Don’t let it hear what it wants to hear.

Don’t let fear take the paintbrush and set the scene,
or take the pen and write the narrative.

This world is layered and complicated.
Yet fear makes it specific and definitive.
It says, there is only one way and outcome.

This world can be simple and beautiful.
Fear says it’s too much, that nothing is what it seems.
Sometimes things are what they seem and tenfold.

Don’t let fear tell you who you are.
Who they are. Who we all are.

We are humans, trying our best.
We’re all secretly, desperately trying to be better,
to be more, to be enough.
And that is heartbreaking and noble and incredible.

Remember what matters.
And try like hell to remember who you are.

Good. …

*Part of the I wrote this for you series.**

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You, are good

You, are kind

You, are complicated

You, are here

You, have weight, gravity.
Infinite, you have mass.

Take up space, child.
Unfold your arms, be free.

Written for you and your story.
Thank you for sharing and for the honor of being able to hear you.

Can I write something for you?

Share your story here.

**Part of the I wrote this for you series.**

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©Gina Yu

spring is at hand.
and the harvest is imminent.

you’ve been waiting,
tossing, and turning.
restless night after night
as the reality
of your thoughts seep in
past the numbness of a
day’s doing and distraction.

the truth of your desires,
your child-self asking
when is it time to play,
when is time to roll around wild,
laughing without reason,
objection or observation,
absent of
expectation and envy.

“just you and me,”
she asks.
could we create?
could we, could I?

over and over,
you ask yourself.

buried under fear and insecurity,
the weight of eyes watching,
everyone judging,
could you? …

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do not let them tell you how you feel,
do not let them tell you who you are
and who you have been.

do not let them reach beyond your ears
when they tell you that your voice
does not matter.

reverberate and resonate,
gently push their lies away
(this is an act of strength and resistance.
do not let them have your rage,
they aren’t worth even this).

do not let them tell you
that you aren’t capable of trust,
when they have yet to learn what trust means.

when they will never live
the life you’ve lived
and have never fought the battles
you have fought
to find people worthy of trust
and a life worth trusting.

but let yourself feel it all.

let yourself hate yourself for believing the lies,
for letting them make you small,
for letting them take effect.

let yourself feel the loss,
grieve the loss of your innocence and trust,
your loss of sense and safety over the shock
of what happens when
one’s own pain lashes out at another.

let yourself feel the pain and heartache
over what could’ve been in a kind and loving world.
let yourself cry out over the disappointment and devastation of it all.

but even through it all, and because of it, not despite it all,
could I wrap my arms around you and tell you,
You are good. could I lay your tired head into my lap
and brush your hair. could I hold you as your tears flow
like river waters and tell you, I love you.

I love you for trying.
For being. For believing. For living through all of it.
I love you when you love yourself.
I love you when you hate yourself for not being able to love yourself.
I love you for your tears so warm and your laughter warmer.

I love you so much my heart pounds for you,
for all that you hold within you, for all you shoulder upon you,
for every weight under you, for every limit placed before you.
I love you for the freedom in you,
crackling like lightning, slicing through.

I love you for failing, for falling, for fearing.
I love you for every step you take,
because the journey requires failing,
falling, and constant fearing. …

**Part of the I wrote this for you series.**

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©Gina Yu

To love is a noble endeavor.
To attempt to love is something quite brave.
And love itself is a working effort,
an unknown adventure, an exercise
in setting up mirrors in your life.

Through loving one, the more
you see them, really see them,
the more you see yourself,
really see yourself.

HD, hypervision,
every surface and depth of you
in stark contrast.

The more you see others.
Because love is like a pair of glasses.

At worst, everything is cloudy,
off, and puts everything into
a blurry haze.

At best, flowers have never been so vibrant,
the clouds and skies so vast and textured,
every freckle and wrinkle in…

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©Gina Yu

I’m trying something out.

I’ve found that when I write,
I come across multiple blocks.
What I’ve realized however,
is when I’m writing for you, or you, or you,
I find I am unblocked.

It’s like writing for you allows me to look at things
from a more expansive view. It allows things
that I’ve been wanting to say for myself
or to myself to come out loud and clear,
because it’s not for me, even though at the end of the day,
what we tell others is often what we need to hear.

We’re a lot kinder to others than we are to ourselves.
We’re filled with more hope and more glittery perspective,
yet we save the doom and gloom pessimism for ourselves. …

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©Gina Yu

When my soul aches, questions, doubts,
and tempts regret and redoing.

I toss and turn, unsleeping, unresting.
Unrelenting are the words asking,
flitting across the movie screen of my mind.

But when morning comes shortly after it all.
I thank the day, the sun for rising again.
For doing the work of setting and
rising every day without affirmation,
save the occasional sunrise salute.

When day comes, I gather the things that are good,
like pens hidden in my tote or the bookmarked
pages of a book I once read in one night.

I hold the good
to my chest
and I whisper
thank you.

Because although the unresting
may fly in like a freight train,
the rest of goodness is like a soft sound,
like midday shadows dancing across concrete. …

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For as many plans as we make and intentions we set,
there are times when everything is just a little bit out of hand.

But for every plan that didn’t make it,
there are surprises and moments that find you along the way.
There are moments that need you as much as you need them.

Sometimes, we intend on going somewhere far and adventurous.
But find that the week was a journey itself
and all you need is some friends, falafel tacos,
a good movie and a touch of wine.
What we needed is often closer than we think.

Sometimes you need to feel all the things
and you need people to sit with you through all of it.
And you sit until you can see light in it,
and you sit and feast on good food while you do. …

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And somewhere, somewhere up there,
she remembered who she was,
who she could be,
and who she was right now.

She remembered
that she could climb mountains,
that she was small but also grand.
With every step, taller,
lungs fuller.

Taking in more with every breath,
breathing deeper.

She remembered that the world was large,
the universe larger.

That time was long,
life shorter.

She remembered everything
she did to get to this moment,
this place.
Every moment of fear and doubt,
delight and joy.

She remembered that it mattered.

Every stone, grain of sand.
Leaf and branch, tree and cloud.
She remembered that it all mattered,
that she mattered.

She remembered that her voice had sound,
and when she spoke,
resonance. …

This season of life is teaching me a lot
about what it means to understand
the tensions of the realities around us
while also honoring the tensions and realities
within us.

How do you hold facts or what is visible to the eye in one hand,
and feelings, emotions, and experiences in the other.

How do you honor both.

How do make space
and respect both.

What would it look like
if our world and our spaces,
communities and places
could reflect both.

Wouldn’t more people
feel more welcome.
Wouldn’t we have
more seats at the table. …

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