I know sometimes you feel
like you’re walking down a sidewalk runway
and the spotlight is on you; 
that there is too much of you to love.

But look at yourself, my dear: 
you are a monument to 
the human race. 
There is history written in
the architecture of your bones,
stories embroidered in the strands
of your eyes, 
and generations hidden in your face (your father’s
nose and your grandmother’s hips). 

You are home to an ever-expanding
universe inside you
with skies of electric neurons,
blue vein-rivers and sandy skin shores.
The earth has made you her reflection: 
curves like meandering streams, 
moon-eyes, and thighs
strong and rooted trees. 
Do not let anything uproot you. 

You are a flower, my love, 
and you cannot be afraid to bloom. 
Imagine how bland the spring would be
if the orchids and lilies were too shy
to blossom. 

The universe does not want
a bouquet of only roses.