This is raw.
Unfinished. Is it worth something? Depends on if I stick to it. I want to tell stories. But I need practice Persistence Faith. In myself In what I want to say. Words, don't fail me now. This used to be easy Before I was afraid. Afraid to make a mistake. Help me be brave (No.) (I am brave.) (Help me find the courage to continue.) (I am brave.) Can I really do this? Maybe. Time will tell. Every shell is beautiful to the sea. I am searching for an awareness of words. The shape of them in my mouth. Hissing, clicking, guttural, humming. Listening to their rhythm. Honesty and persistence. That's all I can ask of myself here. Let's go on a journey. I am curled up on the couch with the people I love and things are okay. This is different than drawing. I am not sure how to approach it. With thought? With intention? I expect too much of myself. I look at what I've done and think 'I can do better than that.' But the words choke on themselves Every time I try. Heh. Random, disjointed thoughts. But I am writing. Even if I can only write about myself. Yet. I cling to this word with my entire being. There is always a yet. I can't write Yet. I'm not good at drawing Yet. It promises a future A better tomorrow Where I'm a little older, A little wiser. Where every bit of struggling and suffering was worth it. Yet. One day I'll fail. One day I'll fall and I won't rise again. One day I'll be satisfied with mediocrity. One day I'll die. One day the darkness will win. One day the wonder will leave my eyes. But not yet. Here is your chance to turn back. [turn back] [do not]
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