I wanted to write a masterpiece
Here's a page of my life,
What do you think of this?
Nobody is asking to read more
But if I didn't have these paper sheets
I don't think I'd be living anymore.
Here's the time I almost choked and died,
Ate the wrong thing and saw flat lines
And although I've written about it before,
Sometimes it feels like a war
So I write it again to pull that fear from my core.

I wanted to write a masterpiece
So my father might say he's proud
I spent my whole childhood working for it.
As an adult he gave me that line
And all i could feel was that he wasn't allowed.
My mother told me she was proud
And I felt like I was on skyscraper,
But when you're on top you can only go down.
No one ever speaks of your success
Until you're back broken on the ground.

I wanted to write a masterpiece
So here's 500 times I felt low
Here's another 500 I was able to grow
Here's every piece of life I've known.
Here's a masterpiece, I'll light it in flames
I'm just a human born to be lame
So keep the trophy I just wanted to play the game.
Get off that bench and quit the team,
We are all born from that same cloth
But I'm ready to rip the seams.

I wanted to be a masterpiece,
Not just a simple piece or a pawn
I want to be a masterpiece
Before they take me out and I'm gone.

Talent lies in the blood.
When it floods
out,
A master-piece is made.

How do I write my own story
How do I use these margins as a springboard
That will propel my words across the lines of this unmarked paper
How do I shape a mountain out of the scattered boulders littered across this flat terrain
How do I create the spark
That will ignite this dry kindling into a blazing bonfire
How do I stir these stagnant waters to motion
How do I begin to carve this block of stone into a statue
That will continue to speak my legacy after my voice has withered away to dust and ashes

Until now I have coloured within the boundaries printed on the pages set before me
I have created perfectly generic and acceptable images that have brought me praise for my ability
But they were not my own ideas
The outlines were slipped onto my desk by well-meaning adults simply doing their jobs
I believe it’s time I graduated to a blank canvas

I want my colours to blossom across every inch of the space I have
I want to dabble in fiery reds, deep blues, and ultimately rich purples
I want my purpose to be seen in the aim of my paintbrush
I want my worth to be felt in the warm glow of art
I don’t want my paint to fall in aimless splatters
I want to trace the silver lining that has gone ahead of me my whole life
A bright arrow leaving a glowing trail behind
Cutting like a knife through the darkness

But now I see that the seeds of a story have already been planted in my soul
All they need is rain and sunshine, care and time,
Before they will spread beautiful leaves
And reveal an intricate network of branches for all to see

in waking life we are well fabricated lies,
personas perfectly tailored to the world's expectations.
it is when we sleep that we know our true selves;
our innermost fears and desires, the intricate complexities
of our daily lives woven into an elaborate metaphor
left for us to decipher. these cinematic masterpieces of the mind
often leave us with more questions than answers.
but every now and then, the subconscious realm leaves us a crystal clear message impossible to ignore.

At times they were just plain words on paper
and at times they were expressive and powerful poetry.
At times it was paint spilled all over
and at times it was a masterpiece.
At times it was a stress
and at times it was a relief.

I guess
progress was never meant to be linear.
It was never meant to be all flow
without ebb.
It was never supposed to be all great and good,
but neither were these times supposed to have the power
to bring you down to give up,
because you feel it will never be good enough.

"How can no one see?" he said softly, almost as a whisper that made her brow rise in confusion. But there was a strange slight relief around the curviness of her lips and in those dark deep blue eyes that seemed to have lit up turning a shade lighter. She exhaled a sigh of relief as though she was glad someone was asking or even talking to her.
"How can no one hear the air carrying the whispers of your cries? How can no one see the merge between the depthful ocean and the mysterious galaxy in your eyes? Does no one feel the sadness leaking out of your pores? The way your smile is never complete, how your cheeks does not swallow your eyes no more. Does no one see your face and say You're a beautiful masterpiece made of all these broken pieces and I want to know more."