The Only Thing that Makes Sense
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The Only Thing That Makes Sense
"The only thing that makes sense
is to hold it all tenderly—
as if it can break, as if it won't be here forever,
as if the moment that is this moment
will give you everything if you let it.
The only thing that makes sense is to celebrate
the exactness of you, to take your own face
in your own hands and declare yourself worthy,
to wrap arms around the orphaned parts
that didn't fit, didn't follow, refused to march in straight little lines.
The only thing that makes sense
is to make art that is your art, art that swings, sways,
tangos its way through every midnight, as if life, this very exact,
disappearing life, depends on it. To scatter
kindness-confetti until walls become wings,
hard melts to soft, not-enough
becomes a feast of fabulous plenty—
a wild, belly-laughing celebration
where every tender, breakable thing
is invited, invited to the moment that is this
moment, the moment that will give you everything
if you let it."
