I Let It
I open my heart.
It’s bright.
Bright enough to catch me in the bathroom mirror at midnight,
bright as light, catching dust in the air.
bright enough to show the whole thing,
including the part I keep trying to edit out.
I feel it.
The pinch in the chest.
The heat behind the eyes.
Doubt lays out its favorite lines.
Fear unravels that same script it loves to perform.
I know that script.
I’ve played every role in it.
I got good at it, really.
I go quiet,
I go productive,
I go funny,
I turn my softness into something efficient,
something sealed tight,
I shrink my world down to “safe”
and safe turns into lonely…
till I’m sick and tired of this.
And I do something else.
I let my heart do what it does –
crack, clench, flutter like a stupid animal that still believes in touch.
Again and again,
I let it,
because I’m choosing alive.
I let it react,
I let it miss,
I let it weep in silence,
I let it want,
I let it feel stupidly hopeful
even when part of me rolls its eyes.
Because I’d rather be alive with a bruised chest
than “fine” in a locked room.
(2022, © Julia Delaney)
Be Alive 🌱
Love ❤️, Julia
Rhyme & Reason
![[section label="Regret, You Silent Sculptor"] [row style="small" v_align="equal" h_align="center"] [col span="7" span__sm="12" span__md="6" animate="blurIn"] Grooves Regret works in the dark. Chisel and mallet, carving valleys in my chest, grooves in my mind, hollows I didn't know were there until I fall into them. It shapes with "what if," with "if only," with the door I didn't walk through, the call that went to voicemail, the words that sat in my throat and stayed there. It keeps reworking my memories, pressing new grooves over old, until I can't tell anymore which version I lived and which one it made. The groove gets deeper. The chisel returns to the same line. I feel it wearing through and I hold still for it like I'm helping. But my hands are moving too. On different clay. Something regret hasn't touched yet. Two sculptors. Same room. One facing what was. One facing what's here. Neither puts down their tools. [gap height="10px"] [ux_text font_size="0.75" text_align="left"] (2018, © Julia Delaney) [/ux_text] [/col] [col span="5" span__sm="12" span__md="6"] [ux_image id="27223" image_hover="glow" depth="1" animate="blurIn"] [/col] [/row] [/section] The past is already carved. What matters is who's holding the chisel now... Be Alive 🌱 Love ❤️, Julia [section bg="24103" divider_top="waves-opacity" divider_top_flip="0" divider_top_to_front="0" divider="waves-opacity" divider_flip="0"] [ux_text text_align="center"] more from this hour: [/ux_text] [gap] [blog_posts style="default" type="row" col_spacing="xsmall" columns="3" columns__md="1" depth_hover="5" animate="blurIn" ids="27202,8949,27229" show_date="false" excerpt="false" comments="false" image_height="56.25%" image_hover="glow" image_hover_alt="zoom"] [/section] [block id= "poetry"] [block id="disclaimer"]](https://eadn-wc05-15915244.nxedge.io/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/poetry-about-life-711x400.jpg)
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