A Dance On Broken Glass

‘I bet on me and my own heartbeat,

When all the odds are piling,

Like bricks around my feet.’

-Rachel Platten (Broken Glass)

            You’re a survivor.

            The world that throws glass, debris, sticks and stones at your delicate form, now lies at your feet, being danced upon as you groove to your own beat and hum   to your own tune.

            
                                                                                                                          The world failed to drag you down with all of its negative glory.

            The world failed to anchor you down on its sinking ship, rolling over raging waters.

            Today, you showed the world ‘you can’ when it told you ‘you cannot.’

            Today, you showed the world, not only are you a survivor, but also a fighter.

            Drowning. 

            That is how he describes the feeling.

            Drowning in dark murky water, that reflect his feelings precisely.

            The water is still, almost like a pane of glass.

            When he moves, it causes the glass to shift.

            Disrupting the flow of everything.

           

            Words.

            Sometimes, they can be charming, gentle, kind and considerate.

            Most of the time though, they cut through the warm atmosphere like a cold, sharp knife.

            Words help us communicate with one another, but they can also be the reason that all forms of communication come to a sudden halt.

            A contradiction to themselves.

            A paradox.

            An oxymoron, if you will.

            Next time, that knife is thrown your way, remember that instead of standing there and taking the harsh blow, you can always just catch the blade and spin it so it points the other way.

           

             Everybody has a chapter of their story that they don’t read out loud.

            His is the waves that lap against his skin as he lies stranded on the shore.

            He sputters, gasping for a breath, coughing up water.

            There’s an arm lying on his shoulder that squeezes lightly forcing him to look up.

            His gaze meets a look of concerned blue eyes, reminding him of the ocean that lies not less than a few centimeters away.

           People cry not because they are weak.

But because they have the strength to care.

We don’t always know one another’s stories- what one has endured, can endure, will endure.

But sometimes, if along anyone’s path they’ve felt as though they are not surviving, not living at all.

Just remember, you are not alone.

Those tears that you keep trapped inside hidden under a plastered smile, living every day just to get by, is you fighting every day to survive another one.

Keep fighting.

The strongest action for any person is to love themself, be themself and shine amongst those who never believed they could.

Even if you’ve tried one of those things, you are already a survivor among survivors.

Her eyes swirl with mirth as she gently rubs his back.

            She is water.

            Powerful enough to drown you.

            Gentle enough to cleanse you.

            And deep enough to save you.

            He is the drowning man.

            The anchor that she doesn’t know she needs.

            ‘I’m going to dance on broken glass just because I can.’

            Those shards are nothing compared to the rough soles of your feet nurtured by invisible scars and bruises from other people’s unkindness.

            Almost exactly like a flock of ravens.

            Just waiting to pounce on your insecurities.

The ocean sits there like a sheet of glass, just waiting to be broken.

So that is what they do.

A slight shift of a foot causes a ripple in the perfect pool of clear.

Just one simple movement.

And yet, the glass has already broken.

Dance on broken glass.

Build castles out of shattered dreams.

Wear tears like a cascade of precious pearls.

Proud.

Relentless.

Unshakable.