No formula but instinct,
No instinct 'till inspired
The words which were a waste
I'd dedicate them to the fire
I asked for no commission,
My mission self-acquired,
To document my ambling,
Through this life 'till I retire,
And in typing up my days,
I found new ways were required,
To describe the very details,
Of the details I desired,
To paint a perfect picture,
Needs time to restyle,
But my words are rough,
And that's enough to sketch a meaning higher,
Than any pure or filtered words,
I leave them unrefined,
Waste is left behind, indeed,
But the product's graced with spines,
I question all, leave none untouched,
When I dive into your minds,
I see past the deception,
I speak out and shout your lies,
Sure, I write of all things beautiful,
Of love, of all things nice,
But make no mistake, this girl will make,
Her words stand for light.