‘I Am Here’

I feel sorrow for the mornings that you tell me you can’t go on. I feel sorrow for the days that go wasted away. I feel sorrow for the nights that you never show up to.

I sympathize for you. With my loving heart I give patience. I give grace. I try, and I try to hold space. But I am not here to tell you just what you want to hear.

I am not here to spare change to a homeless man. I am not here to let the weeds grow. I am not here to polish your shoes.

I am here to be the gentle breeze that strengthens your branches. I am here to be the song of the morning bird that wakes you from your slumber. I am here to be the crisp winter air that enters your lungs and enlivens your being. I am here to be the pillow where you rest your head after a stressful day. I am here to be the soil that grows your prettiest blooms. I am here to be the honey in your tea. I am here to be the sweetness of your dawn. I am here to be the bitterness of your dusk—the imperfection, the struggle, the pain, the darkness— I am here for that too. I am here to be the ocean air that awakens your spirit. I am here to be the pouring rain that you dance in. I am here to be the blazing summer sun that warms your face. I am here to be the darkroom where you develop. Except not like a photograph— staying the same, I am here to change with you.  I am here to be exposed to you. I am here— myself, to expose you.

I am here to push you. I am here for the nudge. Like an old glove that no longer fits— becoming useless; your old routine dies. Again and again. I am here to love you through it. I am here to offer you shelter through it. I am here to tell you that you fucked up. I am here to scream the truth to you, in a melodic way. And with each beat, with each passing day, I will give you my realest gifts.