The forgotten book—
a dusty shelf, tucked away,
had so much to say.

connection begins,
where fear ends.

I write my heart out
my feelings I was beginning to doubt
then I came here
filled with fear
but came my way was not abuse or hate
it gave me the motivation to create
so kind a community
my heart no longer performed an emotional mutiny
I bared my soul to this place
your kindness shone onto my face
you have all been so nice
and it didn't come with a price

Sometimes we wanna make something.
But we really just want to cry.
Maybe creating tears is still creating.

Creating love,
Creating light,
Creating dark,
Creating night.

Maybe what matters more is the fact that
there’s a product rather than what we produce.

“I want to create,”
I said to myself.
To let bubble up what’s deep inside.
To live: jump off the shelf.

So splat, plonk, slam dunk.
And then from play,
To deeper things of this world,
To question: why are things this way? 

From thinking about me,
To think about us,
From survival, limitation, and not enough,
To live out the plan, maximus.

Throwing off the constraints 
Letting things fly,
Being intentional,
Seeing the significance if we don’t try.

The world needs us,
Today: right now!
Be present; hear the call,
Plant the seeds we’re born to sow.

I desire to create,
What remains unperceived,
Unrepairable faith in it's authentic self,
Unscathed by anothers opinion or morals,
Their hopes and desires,
The birth of such a rebellious idea remains unearthed,
I want it raw,
But God despises it,
The idea of being challenged,
So all left of my thoughts is the binding vision of tomorrow,
A vision of hope,
That ensues an ameliorating repercussion on my mental capacity,
Concluding the idea of a saviour,
And Of my passion and greed,
Greed to learn something I shall never master,

But it is your story
It’ll be as you write
Love in itself is a fairytale
if you play your cards right.