Finding Daisies

by Jessica Jocelyn

let’s take a walk in the woods while you tell me how you believe we turn into mushrooms when we die and then we can contemplate our immortality.

bring me to your walls, the ones you hide behind. we’ll

chisel cracks in them to let the light in.

am subjective, just like poetry. to one, I was an intense love story but to another, I was the catalyst to their own personal implosion.

anxiety and depression are my hidden gifts. they are the parts I keep for myself. the ones I give to others are the giant smiles and laughter.

when you hurt under the surface, no one can see it or help you. so, it continues to grow like cancer in a way that by the time it does come about, it’s now too late.

how could I possibly begin to poeticize motherhood? how could I ever explain fully to someone that it has brought me to my weakest moments yet made me a stronger version than before? how I lost my voice but gained another big enough to speak loud enough for all of us? that I’m sad I’m not who I was or have what I had before but gained things so incredible that it’s impossible to imagine my life without them.

I’m teaching you that I will always be there when you cry. you can always lay the weight of your world down on my chest. I close my eyes and breathe you in deep. you won’t always smell this way. you won’t always call for me in the middle of the night. there will come a time when you won’t even be sleeping in my house any longer. once these moments are gone, they’re gone forever and no amount of bargaining will bring them back. so, for now it’s 5 more minutes of rocking one more lullaby to cement in your mind,

to my boys who I will raise to only use kind hands and to my daughter who I will teach to accept nothing less

sometimes, we are so busy being the rock for our family that we forget it is okay and necessary to be soft.

I’m stuck in between where I was and where I want to be. far from better days, either the ones long ago or the ones promised ahead. I’m trying so hard to move on but it’s the forward pace I just can’t seem to get the hang of.

“it’s okay, we’ve never been through this before and we will do better next time.”

all my life, I’ve been loved (or thought I was) by people who have always given me bare minimum but I’m here to tell you (them) that you get no praise for being bare minimum. not here not now and definitely never from me.

I have found love in its purest form when it comes straight from the eyes of a child.

I have found silence, the peaceful kind when among the trees and reaching upward.

I have found desert sunsets and crystal-clear water and satisfaction after ...

sometimes we don’t see the signs because we didn’t know we were supposed to be looking for them.

the bad thing about experience is you have to first get burned

love yourself first irrevocably, unconditionally. the rest will fall into place.

be proud of the strength that you have because everyone suffers but not everyone decides to heal and healing is not for the weak.

when I die, I hope I can simply turn into colors so, you can still find me in desert sunsets, the ones you can’t quite describe or maybe the glitter in freshly fallen snow before anyone has touched it.

when you finally find your voice, not everyone will like it and some may not stay. your voice will draw lines in the sand and those lines will create boundaries. those boundaries will end up protecting you from the people who benefitted from you having none. never lower your voice again