Grasp roots you've always had,
the ones self made,
and eternally contain.
Never let insecurity get in your way.

Remember,
embrace yo snake
let your gold permeate
all things you care to create.
Stick to your few traits,
don't do too many drugs man made,
dance in the cliche fingers of rain,
sing with blood to release pain.

Listen with your heart,
review with your brain,
never filter vulnerable art,
know the best isnt always sane.
Allow the moon to light your dark,
absorb the motion of waves.

Baby, this is it,
the beauty of self acceptance.


Author: Unknown,
cause these things I write down might be me,
but also just some soul speaking through my wings.

What song did the sirens sing, Ulysses?
What tune could break your will,
cause you to lose your way?

Were you strung by the sound of a harpy's harp?
Lured by the lies of hideous creatures
singing songs of fabled falsehoods?
Like empty eggshells holding none
of the nutrients they promised.

Was their melody flooded with the bitter truth of love unreturned?

Did they sing of release?
Release from the turmoil the journey was and would continue to bring?
Were the dissonant harmonics of a watery end,
the chance to be one with the sea
what made you beg for your bindings to be cut?

Perhaps the sirens sang the greatest songs of all.
Perchance they sung
of passion sweeter than nectar,
of love stronger than ambrosia,
waiting to be given to the sailor
that could traverse
death itself
and make his way to them.