To every poet...

To every poet who has wandered...

To every poet who has felt pain and heartache...

To every poet who has felt exhilarating joy...

To every poet who does not believe he or she carries the beauty of art...

...you are a fantastic poet. You are a majestic work of creation, carrying the mark of a Father throughout every corner of your world. You breathe life and love with your smile, your thoughts, and your wanderings. Do not let your poem be stolen.

My poem sometimes feels dark and miserable. I know I am not alone in this. Staring out the window, watching happy people walk by, as they bravely face the world with courage, a flawless smile, and an attractive coffee cup. Where is my poem?

My poem is a representation of true humanity: it is broken. I get lonely, I get depressed, I get self-focused, I get tired, and I lose my art. I question my choices, my beauty, my ability to create, my career, and my worth. This is what happens when you try to make art without an Artist. My poem tries to come out, and it comes out awkward, stumbling, without rhyme or reason. My poem is lost.

And this is where the plot twists.

When you let go of the need for perfect art, you truly accept beauty. You begin to be truly comfortable with your poem, to allow it to grow, succeed, and bloom. The darkness and misery gets chased away by truth, light, and grace. It turns into a beautiful, child-like faith. Your poem begins to rhyme, to have a reason.

What is your poem?

It's in the wine you drink. It's in the words you say to your closest friends. It's in the comfort you give your coworker. It's in the moments that come without words. It's in the people you watch, twirling by with their magnificent coffee cups. It's in the shy touch of first lovers and the comfortable space of lifelong love. It's in the words you read. It's in the smile you bring. It's in the steps you take outside when you could have stayed home. It's in the bravery to speak, to love, to be present without hindrance. It's in the air. It's in the sky and the snowflakes. It's in the blades of grass that move with the wind. It's in the sidewalk that carries the hopes, dreams, downfalls, and discouragements of millions of people. It's in the familiarity of friends and family. It's in the strange bravery of a new job or a new school.

Your art is everywhere. Stop keeping it inside. Stop trying to make it perfect. Let your art shine from within.

Let your poem be read.