survival

A Poem by beautifulblade

Prose letter write to my friend, Turtle.

To my northern star,

I write of tragedies, spin galaxies across the skies of heartache and intertwine our stories. You shine brighter than you believe, and your light catches the imperfections of life and makes them beautiful, my dear. You scan the heavens for answers that no one knows for sure will come, but hold your hurt inside yourself to paint pictures on your dreams. I wonder if you would sleep if you knew your nights could hold more than memories.

I told you once that you were beautiful; my glorious dying star that didn't believe she was still shining and had a life yet to live. I sent you pages of hearts when all you could feel for yourself was hate, and I wrote of hope beyond the pain when your hands shook with fear. Cyan, my blue shelled turtle who swam in seas of saltwater even when you couldn't find the relief of your own tears. I will cry for you turtle, lay your hurt upon my palms and praise my God for your existence, because you are beautiful.

Our scars write mirrored stories, distorted to fit our pasts and brought together through our pain. We circle around each other like cars around a race track, flashing blue and red metals as we race beyond the present and into the future. By now, we know truths that many never learn... that each echo of laughter in our memories is tailed by grief and regret, and that blame is something handed off to anyone willing to carry it. We were kids, given more than our fair share of bumps in the road and we somehow believed that we put them there.

Kayla, when will you learn that children don't make roads, we simply walk or skip along the side (or in the middle if we're daring) and that each step we take is measured by the distance that we grow. Our clumsy hands drag purple crayons along behind us, drawing out the life we think we own. Kay, if I could give you new colors, I would. I would throw you a 64-count box of crayola colors and show you how to create more than what we've gone through, because each misfortune that we crawl through on hands and knees gives us more strength to stand.

We jump hurdles together, cradle the hurt of the world in our arms because it seems easier than dealing with our own. You question your life, and I show you what you have accomplished. You are strong. You are beautiful. You are heard. Your voice is stronger than your struggles and you will rise above adversity. You will question my words, as you always do, but I promise you that you are worth each breath you take. And when it gets hard to breath, as it sometimes does, I will be there to remind you to keep shouldering on. To close your eyes and just let your mind go blank until you are able to stand again. I will punch through the walls you face, hold you up when your down on your knees, and carry you when you don't think you can keep moving forward.

I know things are hard, my dearest shining star, but I know you can do it 'cause I know you. I've seen the way you fight through life -- you throw punches to earn your place, but back down as soon as someone questions.

Stop.

No one can question you. No words can take away who you are or who you deserve to be. You are you, my skittish friend, and I will listen to your pain whenever you're willing to share. I will hold up your life on my shoulders until you keep pace with me at the front of the line, blowing our pasts out of the waters that once held you in their depths. I will not let you drown. I will lift you up, throw you back to the sky so you can see just how high you belong. And I will stay with you, riding on your tail as a shooting star.

With love,

an amateur star-gazer.

P.S.

We're in this together, turtle. Let's show people how to swim among the stars.