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Hello everyone!

I had trouble thinking of what to post for today. Eventually I started thinking about random objects and the first image that popped into my head was a flower. So I’m going to use flowers as an inspiration for today’s post.

When I was a child, I remember not feeling anything towards flowers. Like lots of children, I sometimes ripped flowers apart out of boredom. If someone said “Look at those beautiful flowers!”, I often didn’t feel anything. I agreed with them just so they would stop bothering me.

Growing up, my parents always bought copious amounts of flowers around Easter time. They brought them inside the house and put them in our living room. Every time I walked into the room, the overpowering smell of flowers filled my nose and gave me a headache. I was always happy to see them being planted outside in the weeks after Easter.

At some point, my perspective started to shift. I can’t even tell you how this happened. In adulthood, I started to cultivate a healthy respect for flowers. I made a conscious effort not to hurt them. I felt sad if I accidentally hurt one or stepped on one. I still don’t see the physical beauty of flowers. However, you will never see me intentionally hurting a flower.

We all live such short lives, yet look at how beautiful we all have the potential to become. At some point, we may question if our efforts are making a difference or if our lives have meaning.

The answer is always yes. We all go though many journeys in life. Through each one, we grow and reach towards that which we are meant to be.

No dream is out of reach. Regardless of how much we struggle, we can achieve what we love.

Every one of us is beautiful, regardless of how ugly we may think ourselves to be. Don’t ever surrender your power to others.

Today’s end of post poem is inspired by this post:

The threads of life

Each endless in their weaving

Speak about the past

Empty and never grieving


But bear witness

To the birth of bright beginnings

Holistic and rare

It takes a special kind of care

Befitting of a newfound king


Feed your eyes

to this blessed grace

Rooted in place

In this timeless space


You claim to be free

What are you meant to be?

A brief murmur of hope?

Or another method to cope?


And yet nature breathes

An erotic tendency?

Or is it just a way to be?

Is this what we see?

When the mind isn’t free?