i know that it’s hard and i know that it’s scary

but it’s worth it in the end, i know for a fact,

and loving myself this way made me realize that

i’m done writing about the same shitty guys

who took up so fucking much of my sweet, precious time,

and the fact that i let them is almost a crime

because at the end of the day my poetry has always been

mine.

i took back everything

they’d taken from me

over the years

i’d wasted giving love

to everybody

but myself.

i stole back

my drive,

my patience,

my kindness,

my joy.

it never belonged

to any of them

in the first place.

—reclaiming

you’re pacing in your room. the urge to do something, anything, is coursing through your veins. for the first time in a long time, you feel burning ambition, something you thought you’d lost. your old passions no longer lit a spark in you, and you walked through life half-awake, as though nothing could bring you to be fully present.

now, though, you are brimming with the desire to create. you’d almost forgotten what it felt like. but you want to make something meaningful. you want it to have an impact, however small. you want it to mean something. you want to mean something. and you can’t remember the last time you believed yourself worthy of that kind of dream.

so you turn, invigorated, and grab your journal. you flip it open and reach for your pen. you stare at the blank page before you.

you start to write.

the hierophant

you are surrounded

by those who can guide you.

they may be friends

or family members,

with their tough advice

and kind reassurances.

sometimes they come

to you as a lover,

even if the lesson

they teach you isn’t pretty.

but other times,

the world is your guide.

and when it calls to you,

listen.

if you take anything away from this book, let it be this:

it is okay to ask for help. it is okay to need help. you are not meant to do this alone. life is hard. it’s hard even when you are surrounded by people who love and support you. to try and conquer it on your own is terrifying. you should not have to feel that fear. so please, reach out when you need to. someone will be there to answer. it may not be the person you expect or hope for, but they’ll be there regardless. and you’ll understand why it was them that came to you, one day. it will become clear, and you’ll be so, so thankful.

reach out your hand.

let them take it.

i owe

everything

i am

to teachers.

this includes my parents and my grandparents,

all of whom were, or are, teachers.

but there are so many others:

my middle school choir director, who put me in front of a

microphone, told me to sing, and forever altered my life;