With the best of intentions, we’ve been chained. Artists grow up and slowly fade – a world full of colors now mostly grey. Our passion and joy we gladly trade, for money and some accolades. But dollar signs don’t validate, and it’s still you that you hate. Acceptance seemingly a fairy tale, we decide not to start and choose first to fail. We shackle our muses in self-made prisons, blood red bars of our perceived sins. Screams from “god” up above and their woe, deafen you to God within screaming love.
Forgiveness comes only in prescription form. No one seems to question why misery is the norm. “Is this happiness?” Isn’t up for debate. There’s too much to do so we can ignore our true Fate.
Fortunately for you and for me- the soul knows nothing of chemistry. It knows nothing of this worldly hate. There’s no mistake in the art you create. Your life is art, it’s everything. Sing your sorrows or your hate, paint your pain or play your joy, life is more like your favorite toy. Life is not meant to be how you or they planned it. You have one job – the universe demands you expand it. Life is yours as you make it. If you hear your Fate, don’t hesitate – take it!
The universe is one big canvas. Maybe you can’t understand this, but even in escapism, believing all is forbidden, riddled with your chosen disease, you, yes you, are her disasterpiece. Beautiful and ugly, just like you, it’s lying whenever avoiding truth, it’s beloved for every spot, there’s no imperfection, no body to rot. Mistakes are as lovely as success, whatever you do, you’re trying your best. In her eyes, you are perfection, hurting from your own neglecting, and all she wants is your acceptance.
Mah Butt Itches 