Swipe Left On Perfection

2026

I hope the coming year unfolds softly, not yet defined,
With gentle light on all the roads I’ve been too scared to see,
May quiet courage walk beside the doubts that crowd my mind,
And every closed, forgotten door swing open just for me.

I hope I trust the timing when the timing feels all wrong,
When plans fall through and days feel heavier than they should,
I hope I learn my worth is not the sum of being strong,
But how I rest, and how I stay, and how I choose my good.

I hope I find new faces who feel strangely like “I know you,”
The kind of people where my unmasked self can safely land,
Who hold my stories gently, seeing all the rough edges through,
And don’t let go when life gets loud and hard to understand.

I hope I leave some versions of myself that kept me small,
Old habits, fears, and patterns I’ve outgrown but still wear,
I hope I hear a braver, softer voice above it all,
Whispering, “You’re allowed to want more life than this—don’t spare.”

I hope my work feels closer to the truth of who I am,
Less proving I belong here, more creating what feels right,
I hope that when I fail, I’ll say, “It’s fine, I did the best I can,”
Then try again with kinder eyes on myself in the night.

I hope I make more memories than photos on my phone,
That sunsets, songs, and laughter don’t get filtered, don’t get staged,
I hope I feel at home in places I have never known,
And measure life by moments fully lived, not just by age.

I hope I learn to listen when my body says “Enough,”
To step away from battles I was never meant to win,
I hope I trade perfection for the beauty of “just rough,”
And let my unfinished stories be allowed to just begin.

I hope I find a peace that doesn’t vanish when I’m shaken,
The kind that hums beneath my ribs when nothing else feels clear,
I hope I look back one day, gently stunned at how I’ve waken,
And say, “I didn’t stay the same. I grew into me this year.”