Image

I am,
Your canvas.

And as you paint over me,
I try to make sense out of the strokes and lines.

I should have known by now
That I don’t have to worry because
You are a master planner and a grand artist
I get to be your work of art.

My life-a map full of adventures and detours,
You set up for me long before I was born.

I love to explore what you have prepared.

There’s an avalanche on my back.
Masses rolling and reeling down my spine,
As the weight of worry and anxiety
strips off me,
every time I choose to trust you.

You
Are many things.

Small is not something that you are.
The Light inside you
Spreads North,
Cuts East,
Pours west,
and cascades South.

You occupy
You fill up space.

Small is not an outfit you wear anymore.
Small is an equation your mind doesn’t like solving.
Small is incorrect like an image on a broken mirror.
Small is a class you missed and you…
Small is…
Not you.

As this flower unravels
As this flower blooms
May the wonder of the colors that make its petals
scream of the glory of the One it blooms for.

As this flower closes up
In seasons of obscurity
In times of no limelight
May the fragrance of the knowledge of the One that
prunes it still spread wide.

As this flower sees its fragility
When its petals fall
in attempt to brave the winter
May the summer sun eventually melt the snow
and reveal buds that never dried and the Vine that
never dies.