gracenike
Grace Nike
A Poem Blog
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Enjoy the Little Things
People always say to not worry about the little things in life - they're all wrong.
Yes, the big things are nice, but they only come once in a while.
The little things are often, and then always soon forgotten.
They are born with a whisper, live with a flutter, and are gone with the wind,
But that's the beautiful thing about them.
Go out in the world and watch and look and listen.
Stand on the street, there on the corner.
There are the little things.
Take a walk, out in the woods.
There are the little things.
Go on a walk, to a store, to your kitchen.
There. There are the little things.
A flower in a crack in the sidewalk, a leaf that crunches underfoot.
A view of the sky, a perfect apple, the way the pans are arranged.
Someone enjoying a walk, someone working on a goal.
A child onward to their first grand adventure, someone trying to decipher the handwritten ingredients on the recipe from mom, the smell of something cooking and knowing you did it right.
These are the little things.
Enjoy the little things in life.
But also worry about the little things.
Is there enough sugar in my tea?
Does my chair have the right light?
When did I last eat some strawberries?
Did I water my plants tonight?
Where did I put that comfy sweater?
Is my desk at the correct height?
What playlist shall I choose?
Is my art arranged just right?
These are the little things.
Do whatever makes you happy.
Have chocolate waffles for dinner? Go ahead.
Do literally nothing for a full day except binge watching something? Yep.
Put ten throw pillows on the bed? Do it.
Decide to reorder the bookshelf by alphabetical order of the first word of the book? Yes.
Make a three course meal for just you and yourself? Why not.
Want to make a nest of blankets on the floor? What’s stopping you.
Anything and everything that makes you happy.
Sit back, relax, enjoy life and enjoy the little things.
Every single morning, I wake up and say that it's a beautiful day.
My friends and family can't trust me with the weather, I always say it’s wonderful.
I look up at the sky and see just a world of possibilities.
Most look down at their phone to ask how many degrees.
I love it when it’s rainy.
I love it when it’s sunny.
I love it when it snows.
I love it when it shines.
I love it when it’s windy.
I love it when it’s cloudy.
I love it for walking down the street coming home and tilting my face up to the sky and enjoying the coolness.
For the pitter patter of the rain on the window somehow always in time with my music.
For the life it brings after the fall with everything clean.
I love it for the tingling sensation on my arms as I sit outside on a bench in the early morning.
For the happiness it brings others and to hear the squeals of children as they play.
For the way that the memory of it always brings a smile.
I love it for the brisk air it carries that wakes me up and brings focus to the world.
For the quiet it brings with it’s white blanket dampening all the noise except for the one bird who forgot to go to sleep.
For the way I am reminded of all the wonderful times I have spent in it’s cold embrace.
I love it for the way it seems to make the water always so much cooler than it normally is.
For the sound of the birds chirping and the cicadas with their eternal conversations.
For the remembrance of the fires and the endless songs while walking on trails just large enough for one person.
I love it for the way it makes me feel as if I could jump and suddenly be flying above the trees.
For the sounds of it whistling in my ears as a tune that I just can’t seem to remember exactly.
For the memories of running as fast as I could trying to cox it to grab my kite and toss it as high as the string would let it.
I love it for the way it makes everything feel like it's asleep or in a place where everything is suddenly calm.
For the way it seems to soften the lines of the world as there is no longer a single bright light.
For the way it gives me solace for when I wish the bad days would be over soon to have hope that the sun will come out like it always does.
So remember.
Enjoy the little things.
-Grace Nike
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Do Not Fear the Night
Do not fear the night.
There is beauty in that black darkness.
The light will come, but enjoy the wonder in the moment.
Listen, look, and remember.
See the stars and hear the sounds.
The trees are whispering.
You are safe here.
Here it is quiet and dark and calm.
One day you will come to realize that the light was always there, beautiful and bright.
Not now.
Now there are clouds.
But the wind will change and you will change with it.
So do not fear the night.
It is not as dark as you think.
-Grace Nike
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You
You brought many things back into my life.
You brought music and art and smiles and joy.
You brought me all the beautiful things that I had forgotten.
You didn’t bring me the world.
I always knew the world was beautiful.
When I had forgotten everything I loved to do, when I forgot that I was worth something that I was beautiful.
The world was always beautiful.
You were already there.
-Grace Nike
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For Me
I think I know why the heart is the symbol for love.
Your mind is for yourself.
Your internal monologue, your thoughts.
Your voice is for others.
Your way to connect and communicate with the world.
And then there’s your heart.
As I’m lying here on your chest, with your arms around me.
Your heart is just for me.
-Grace Nike
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Stardust
Don’t you know that you’re made of stardust?
So am I.
I have constellations covering my body from head to toe.
I have stars on my forehead, on my chest and my arms.
I have stars on my back, on my thighs and my legs.
I have constellations traveling up and down and left and right.
There are permanent ones, made into story’s that are told to tens of generations.
There are the temporary ones, here fast and white and gone soon.
These stars sometimes leave ghosts, reminders of the story’s created to accompany them.
I had the straight faint white lines of comets on my arms.
I have comets on my chest still.
I have nebulas on my hips, bright pink and red.
I have a crescent on my cheek and a bird on my chest.
We are all covered in scars.
Evidence of a life lived.
Study the cracks, lines and dots.
Remember that you are covered in stars and that each of us are our own little galaxy.
With our own constellations and comets and stories.
I can see that I am covered in stars.
Evidence of what I am made of, breathed life into.
If patters and dots and wisps and lines can be used to describe something as beautiful as the sky, then if I use those same words on me, ashamed.
Why should that make sense?
If I can use the sky to describe myself, doesn’t that make me beautiful?
- Grace Nike
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