The Mess

The Mess

There is no mess,

there is only here and now, past and future.

You are not a mess, you are fine.

You are beautiful.

Though it feels like walking in circles,

like muddled repetition,

you are a butterfly born over and over each day,

crawling from your cocoon, seeing the way forward in each moment.

Stablity doesn’t exist.

Except the ground beneath your feet,

the rock against your back,

the tree holding you strong.

Let yourself be held.