They call out to the muse,
Asking her
For a life source,
The source
Of which all that has unravelled
Can be made sense of again.
To be wrapped neatly,
only to be unwrapped again.
Asking her consent,
To find the answers
Which, in time
Unveil themselves to be the questions,
That continue to live on the tip of your tongue.
She looks up,
Eyes draped in thick lashes,
As if to hide,
As if to reveal,
As if to locate the source.
“There are no answers here,”
Says the Muse.
and her voice echoes through the four seasons
And you wake up
New years day.
New moon.
Same you,
Wholly deprived.
Every bit as Wonderful
As I remember you to be.
(As I made you up inside My head)
Same questions.
But the Source —
The curiosity,
(The Life Source)
Runs dry into the new year.

They call out to the Muse—
Who is she?


Who,

me?

Who are they?

You say I am beautiful
Scars and everything
But
Do you mean the scars that litter my body
Or the scars that litter my mind
My heart
My Soul

Oh, baby
If you knew
How the scars came to be
Would I still be beautiful to you?

Turn your face and look away,
Ignore the hate, embrace the pain.
Find your strength and hold it close,
They don’t see it and never will know.

Find yourself among the trees,
Love your patterns like its leaves.
Know perfection isn’t an option,
But still strive for what you’ve always wanted.

Find your way through life’s windy paths,
Refuse to give into its continuous wrath.
Ignore where you are and don’t look around,
If there’s something to notice there’s always a sound.

Don’t look at your shoes and how ***** they are,
Notice where you’re standing and how far you’ve gone.
Focus on you and nobody else,
Forget all the products, forget all the wealth.

This is your life, so live every moment,
Love every breath and let yourself hold it.
Dith the anxiety and let the world do its work.
Fear will always exist but deny its fierce burn.