Knowing youāre able, But canāt manifestā Pushing the boundaries Youād rather not test. Leaving you hopeless, These thoughts relentless. Mind wonāt stop racing; Body still restless. Trembling softly, This flesh turning brown Embrace the water Itās fine, you wonāt drown. Reach both your hands down While trying to ground, Grow by reflecting On what you have found.
My art isn't beautiful, It's a curse. When do I create? When I hurt. Who has the time? The dedication? Only the broken, The beaten and worn. I labour away, Though battered, I stay Persistent. But only because What else do I have But to leave a ghost of My existence. It's not until after I let it all out That you appreciate What it's about. And even then You cannot know What it took For me to grow. My art isn't beautiful, It's a curse. Why do I create? Because I hurt.