No more secrets.
No more shame.
No more fear.
No more blame.
A world within me,
Unexplored.
I listen to the news
And I'm fucking bored.
All of this focus
On humanity's pain
Another story told
And I have lost myself
Again.
How can we cry
For our sisters and brothers
When we are not taught
To nurture each other?
The society in which we live
Casts a shadow upon
The Closet Artist.
Fears of expression
Shoved down one's throat
As to make an impression
Is what matters most.
I grieve for all
Who feel like me.
Terrified of exploring
Their creativity.
A seed half watered,
Collections of unfinished drafts.
A gentle tip-toe around
So many sacred crafts.
Fear of the unknown.
Fear of losing control.
Fear of replacing my mind
With the longings of my soul.
Delicate.
Raw.
Vulnerable.
Free.
Fear of knowing my own truth,
Of acknowledging 'me'.
I behold the beauty of my unfinished work.
Embracing their union with these few gentle words.
A family of hope. Diverse in their nature.
All birthed from love, by the same creator.
The force that invokes a bird cry
Or asks the wind to blow.
A timeless time,
Of dreams gone by.
The current that sends me home.