I’m trying to be kinder. Practice kindness.
Tell the truth, not only to get honest responses in return, 
but to let the sugar of truth stick to my tongue.
To avoid cynicism and negativity in any form. 
Distance myself from those who practice cynicism and negativity.
Distance myself from those who would bring me down,
via cynicism, negativity, self-loathing, etc,
As well as those who bring question to my morals.

I’m living for the beauty of my own reality.
Waving at small children and 
feeling bigger than anything if they wave back.
To acknowledge my mistakes and hold onto those who know
I am better than the worst thing I have ever done.
I’m trying to gain weight.

I’m trying to practice gentleness.
I’m trying my best to be a gentlemen.

To read more than I do already, and 
to write as much as I dream.
To hold Sunday in the cups of my hands,
let it flow down to my feet like the freshest water.
Eat more fruit.

I will try and keep my childhood present,
no matter how big this little body gets.
I will try and jump on my trampoline every time I am home.
To lay down on it below the sky,
find a few stars,
and know I am small.
To pet my dog.
To pet lots of dogs.

I will try my best to not make fun of any god,
and know that prayer 
is just the way some people choose 
to pat me on the back. 

I have already released my hope for a better past.
I am trying my best to reach up and touch the universe.
To not hate myself or the things I do,
take nothing rough to the peachfuzz of my heart,
and to push my insecurities to the ocean,
so that in the turning of the waves’ salty hands
be turned into smiling fish,
swimmin’ because they like the movement.

I will plant humor in my shoes,
gratitude in my pockets,
hope under my breastplate,
and joy in my throat.

I will say both “amen” and 
“good goddamn”
when I am touched by this world
and my faith in the people in it  
has been rejuvenated. 

I will continue practicing love, fiercely.
hold little birds in my chest ‘til I am flyin’.
Tell those I love that I love them.
Any preconceived notions of sensitivity,
compassion, 
sincerity, 
emotionality,
or affection being only clichéd attempts of humanity,
I will take these notions
and throw them 
to the split tooth smile of the moon.

I will try and let Nannie tell me any story,
smoke every cigarette, and help me cook every meal,
just to know that she is still there 
to do these things.

I will try and call Ma more. 
Listen to what she has to say, even if I disagree,
and tell her that I love her every single time.
Play cards with her.
I will try to continue embracing this skin she has given me,
no matter how the heart that came with it tingles
some nights, how it pulls the bow of my brain
and sets it to shivering.
I will take those fishhooks out.

And if for any reason I stop doing or trying to do these things,
may I be reminded 
of good food to put in my belly,
of Pixar movies
of McDonald’s french fries
of Earl Grey tea
of blankets
of banjos and fiddles
of waking up in the morning
of the poems of Shel Silverstein, 
and of all the beautiful, soaring people I have
to hug me
even though I am awkward in hugging them back.

I love y’all, I do.
You ragged houses.
You handsome cartoons.
You quiet rivers.
I love y’all. 

With my hands, I will make telescopes.
I have galaxies to be spun in.
The light they breathe is the softest kind.