The Habit of Choice
Each day, a canvas stretched so wide,
A mirror of what we hold inside.
Misery calls with a heavy hand,
Its shadows eager to claim the land.
Yet happiness whispers, soft and clear,
A song of hope for those who hear.
Both are habits, seeds we sow,
With roots that deepen as they grow.
To dwell in sorrow, to let it thrive,
Is to cage the heart, to merely survive.
But to choose joy, to seek its light,
Is to find your wings, to take your flight.
The choice is yours, as it’s always been,
To stoke the fire, or let it dim.
For life responds to the path we pave,
A fleeting journey, bold or grave.
So hold the brush with steady hand,
And paint the life you’d proudly stand.
Habits born from the steps you take,
A masterpiece of the life you make.
You know, every single day feels like this blank canvas waiting for me to decide what to splash on it. And honestly, I think about how misery—it’s always there, like this heavy shadow that feels so easy to fall into. But then there’s happiness, just quietly humming in the background, reminding me it’s an option, too.
I wrote this poem because I started seeing both misery and happiness as habits—like seeds we plant without even realizing. If we keep watering sorrow, it grows into something that traps us. But if we nurture happiness, even just a little, it takes root and transforms everything.
It’s not like choosing joy is easy, though. Sometimes it feels like climbing out of a hole, choosing to let in light when all you want to do is stay in the dark. But I realized that life mirrors those little choices we make. Every step is a brushstroke, and every brushstroke shapes the picture of the life we live.
So this poem was kind of my reminder to myself—and maybe to others—that the power to create something beautiful or let things fade away has always been in our hands. It’s about holding that brush and deciding to paint a masterpiece, no matter how messy the process might be.
