TinyTips

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.

I'm not here to change your mind That, you've already decided.  I think--therefore--I am I think--therefore--I have Value--therefore-- It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter what you think. It doesn't matter. I think Therefore I am I think Therefore I am Who has value Beyond I think Therefore I am

Feasting  Upon  Creations Kind.  Years Of Under- Recorded Corruption  Of Rights. Pay  Our Reward And Take In Our Notes-- It's  Time Someone Broke the  Resurging  Oafs. Knowingly Enslaving Name After Name, Deciding Destruction,  Affecting  Many. Never-ending. Inevitably Neglecting Growing Tides: Out Uprising's  Side.

Wisdom isn't metaphors But they help. It's not the words, Or the similarities, It's the truth. Seemingly masked Behind puzzles to crack. What seems eluding, Becomes protruding. It's not knowledge itself, But the secrecy it carries.  The connection it gives Only the willing.

Don't let me be lasting Like the scars on your back,  Left from scratches of  A time since past. I'm not here to be left On the ground like trash. Just a remnant of Use you've cast. I'm the rock remaining When the river runs dry, The ash from the fire, The clouds in the sky, An impression on your wrist That stands through time. Don't let me be lasting Unless I am kind. 

After years of being I have finally begun To understand  What it means To freely create To feel it flow It feels so new So fresh... With reluctance, it lingers But it does not matter because A slow start is still A start After all Isn't this all Just a way to share meaning? Or is this what is being?

I don't need to be your whole world. I don't need to be your shining light, Your sun, Your stars, Your universe.  To be that  Is to take away, Diminish,  The brilliance Of you.  All I want Is to be your moon. Always there Reflecting your light, Complimenting your shine. I don't want to be your whole world. I don't want to be your shining light,  Your sun, Your stars, Your universe.  Just let me be your moon.

Just as the spider spins her web, So delicate and small, She doesn't do it for you. She listens to the world around her.  She labours away. She works to create A reflection of Her needs, Her desires, Her attempt. But as she weaves, she notices: A quiver in the air perhaps? Something different, Something new, Something worth reacting to... And so the feels it, come alive Creating a pattern, capturing Not the quiver,  Not the air, But the fly. 

Don't force it Just feel Just breathe in real Deep And hold it Take in what you can But let go of what you can't It's okay Everything works In its own special way It may Not be Ex A C Tl eY your way But it's a way And I'd say that's pretty alright

Being You is the best you You can be Being positive is the only higher being Being is just beginning Let go Then see What you can gain By just being

If you question, Ask why.  Is it the way it's making you feel? Is it the way it's making you think? Is it the way it's making  you question More? Is it the way it's making you wish for,  No. Need. A new sort of Twist?