30 Quotes About Jeanette-leblanc

I wonder now, is there is a word for strength leaving your body? Or love?What of its arrival?Or is it only pain that the body names, and then only in it’s leaving?It is true, I know, that there are some things for which there are no words.Only the spaces between the words we know to say all that must be saidAnd I think about how some calls come deep, for years and years before I finally answer.I wonder why this is so. And I wonder what this tells you about me.

To know the hope and the struggle and the stay still and the run away and the come here and the push back. And also what it is to say yes, to be present exactly where you are.

You are not too much. You have never been too much. You will never be too much. The very idea is preposterous. Because you were born to be you. All of you. Not a tiny acceptable sliver. Not a watered down version with colors dulled and edges softened. No. You were meant to be every last pulsing-bleeding-loving-crying-feeling bit.

You have never been as beautiful as you will be through our eyes. You will have never known that the hard edge of your hipbone was worthy of poetry, or the curve of your smile or the husk of your voice or the caress of your cheek against our own. But if we love you, we will turn you into a poem. You will be made immortal by the power of our words. You can count on this.Let it happen.

If you’re going to love a poet you should know this. Our words are our truths. Our blood hums with verse. We break easily. Our words save us. Our stanzas keep us alive. If we loved you at all, we loved you truly. And you will never leave us but live under our skin and beneath the tips of our fingers and in the ink spill on blank page.Because poetry, like some love, is forever.

These words and these stories can save a life.Who knows – maybe even your own.

You’re either part of the problem or part of the solution. There are no bystanders who get to claim no impact. What mark will you leave on this world?

Never get too attached to the first draft of anything – this includes writing, art, homes, love. You will revise and revise and revise. We are always in the midst of our own becoming.

Home is not just where we come from, It is where we choose to belong.