Dear Self,
On the day I die, I imagine there will be many mixed feelings about the event. Death - Now there's a bankruptcy that's pure gain.
Imagine a rose's rarest essence lying in it's thorns. This is how I would describe the essence of my life.
With a few of you, things flowed between us that cannot be said or written. Some of you left, and in doing so, made my sky weep, and my mind and soul full of grief.
No one can take your place in my existence nor in your absence. The sadness I feel has taken me from the taste of good language.
Nana once said to me, "Tears are like grief water you use to nuture the seeds of your soul." Deep. I've increasingly found that one of the primary reasons we refused to cry culturally is that crying forces one to reflect. Reflection is a dangerous thing, expecially when we run the risk of seeing our own reflection.
My only two rules - (1) No Days Unalert, and (2) Suffer The Pain.
I imagine there will be similar feelings on my music. Some will have loved it. Many will have hated it. I suppose that's the nature of art (or un-art depending on who you ask). I know it's hard to state the purpose of one's art beyond self-expression, but if I could perfectly articulate the purpose of my music, I would characterize it as the waves swaying against your boats. But because I will not get to decide, I can only hope that maybe a few of you will stumble on to what I was actually trying to say. I know what I want to say, it's just that sometimes the words don't fit in my mouth.
I am stuck in the mud of my life. Fool's gold trying to purify itself. The caged bird in me wants to freedom, but realizes that she'll never be able to do so... within the confines of the lines drawn on the paper of my poems. They act like prison bars in a sense, attempting to constrain and restrain my heart's thoughts.
I hope, that at some point, I'm viewed less as a merchant, and more as an artist (in the true sense). To those who I've encountered who, for whatever reason, have been turned away from me (by myself, or my actions, or what you've heard), I sincerely apologize. If my message was lost, I am the only one responsible for that.
There is some kiss we want with our whole lives... mine is for you see my thorns, and yet still perceive my essence.
Tonight, I will ask the moon to come to me, close the language door, and open the window of understanding.
Proverbs 1:23
Turn you at my reproof: behold, I will pour out my spirit unto you, I will make known my words unto you.
