*POETRY HOUR* Dream Big

I've been writing shorter form prose lately. Too long for a note, too short for an essay, just right for a poem? What I wonder is, would you like to share some poetry too?

Photo by Wolf Zimmermann on Unsplash

I’m wondering if we all need a space to share some of our own words.

Yesterday a friend commented on my Instagram Reel,

“I have all these artsy ideas now, like making it a mini personalized book of affirmations for yourself. (Why is it so easy to think of things for other people, yet anytime I get out supplies to make anything for me, hours later all I’ve accomplished is mixing watercolors staring at the blank paper?!)”

here is the reel she commented on if you’re an instagrammer

Her comment got me thinking:

Maybe we need a place to stare at blank paper together.

Maybe we need a mess hall to share our art.

A forum for creative, curious, wildly uncertain humans like us to gather and question everything. A place to share our words that make no sense. Our art that makes a mess. A safe place to be lost, aimless, and unsure. But a place to be.

I don’t know what that looks like yet, but if you’re…

…a poet/write your thoughts down cathartically
…paint or sit staring at blank canvases
…type nonsense on your notes app
…want to share your insides somewhere warm and safe
…have scribbles in your diary that you’d like someone to witness

Then comment the word “messy” on this newsletter.

It’s silly to ask you to comment a word, I know. But hopefully that takes away some of the vulnerability it takes to say, “me, I want this,” and hopefully gives you permission to ask for something true.

I’ll tally up your messy comments, and from there see what I can create for us and how.

In the meantime, here is a poem I wrote yesterday after a phonecall that left me feeling powerless, undervalued, and erased. We are not obsolete, dear friends. Your heart is not a play toy. Your art is not a free trial. You are the sun, my loves. You are.

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I am the sun

Dream big, they said
Be brave, they told me
You’ll do great things, they whispered

How can I be great when all I’ve ever been taught is to be good?

Good and pretty
Good and palatable
Good and obedient

Good is how they want me to be

Great is how they fool me into having dreams of being more

I won’t be fooled though by the guise of greatness
By hustle and grind
By pressure and sacrifice

My life is not a trading game
I won’t offer up my soul in exchange for promises

No crown is worth my peace

Dream big? 
No. 
I’ll dream wide 
and soft 
and slow. 
I’ll dream expansive and private
in my own language of what a life of richness looks like in my heart

Be brave? 
I am already so. 
When I say "no" to what you ask of me
When I say "no" to promises you can’t promise to keep. 
Bravery is not choosing someone else’s hard. 
Bravery is choosing our screaming internal song that says, “it’s my turn.” 

Do great things? 
My greatness is not for you to demand.
Greatness already lives in me
and if you want access to it
you’ll have to do much more than convince me 
all I need to do is dream big.

I am the sun.

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Thanks for allowing me to be lost with you. It’s an honor and a privilege to share this mess together.

I hope to share even more, here and beyond.

XX
Rachel