The problem with finding a place to belong is that Hell doesn’t look the way you expect it to.
The simplicity of your path cutting through nature, the field with a lonely tree at its centre.
The sound of progress roaring in your ears, the architecture white and precise.
Community set in stone, It’s your fault if you’re alone.
Long ponytails and hair cut short. Everyone here plays a sport.
Ideas and hopes all ideal never find a truth that’s sealed.
No one ever asks for help. They stand alone, knowing not to yelp.
Hell looks clean and simplicity.
It looks like progress and new equipment.
It looks easy.
But
Heaven looks messy and chaotic.
It looks like all the colours on your canvas mixed into all sorts of shades.
It’s the in-between and the imperfect. It’s the place where normal doesn’t exist.
It’s the wonky vegetables and the ugly grey bench made from recyclables.
It’s the paintings on the walls, the graffiti written loud and tall, made from young and old.
Mistakes and faults, imperfections and wrongs, all reside here…
Because if Hell is beautiful, then Heaven must be something else.
It’s hard but worth it, and messy is what you make it.
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