Amazing.

Grand.

Everlasting.

What is the definition for the complete state of pure euphoria?

                                                                   What is awesome?

Awesome is the fresh crisp of the sunlight tickling my skin as I wake up in the morning, God’s angels welcoming me to another day.

Awesome is the smell of brewing coffee dancing within the air and then the sweet vanilla taste tickling my taste buds.

It is the random acts of kindness that lets me know I am cherished deeply, the simple four word cards left on a pillow or the hundreds of birthday wishes from people that I didn’t even know cared.

But with heaven there is a hell and with light there is dark.

Depression.

Sorrow.

Dread.

What is the definition for the complete state of absolute desolation?

What is darkness?

Darkness is the dreadful feeling of having my insecurities echo throughout my mind, nothing but self-doubts occupying its space.

Darkness is having the memories of someone I miss dearly taunt me, nothing but their face appearing behind my eyelids, only to be followed by the sinking realization that they don’t miss me.

It is hating myself, hating the skin I reside in, hating the person I are for all my horrid imperfections.

But when I pick up a pencil the darkness is cast away.

I paint a safe haven with my words and suddenly the darkness melts away.

Once and for all I step into my own skin and I feel comfortable there.

The criticizing voices that echoed throughout my mind drift into nothingness as I paint a world aside from my own.

God’s rays rain down on me, the vanilla coffee warms me, the random acts of kindness envelop my mind and all I can think of is that I can do it. I can do anything.

For once I accept myself.

I accept my beautiful imperfections and accept that they are what define me. They are perfect imperfections.

I accept that my mind is a scramble, lives’ questions scattered in every visible space.

I accept myself for the hormonal adolescent I am, knowing that without the churning emotions that seem endless my words would be dead amongst the pages.

I accept myself for my many insecurities, knowing very well that without them I wouldn’t have the dying desperation to be a writer, the dying persistence to help others out there similar to me, to offer a connection, to be someone that saves the world.

I accept the darkness that tries its best to leech onto me knowing that I wouldn’t be able to appreciate the light without it.

I feel the soft glow of acceptance engulfing me whole and I proudly own to being a writer, I proudly own to being perfectly imperfect and suddenly everything is awesome.