Today

 Everything is in front of me

I just need to embrace it

Or will I

Let it slip through my arms

Like always

I admit

 I admit

I know nothing

But doing so

Means I know

One thing

So…

Magic

I found this one in an old journal, it was written between June 26, 2024 and July 6, 2024.

It's not without 

Where I will find

The Magic

It's within

And I will hold it there

Until it's ready

And I learn

How to begin

Is it a muse

A savior

Or a sage

Is it a sleeve

A canvas

Or a page

Where will I bleed enough

For you to feel me

Where will I die enough

For you to hear me

Where will I cry enough

For me

To hear

Myself?

I

 am not okay

i will be

but i'm so not

2025

I am hopeful.

Some Nights

I find myself
Doubled over
Asking to be saved
Or forgiven

I ask

To be set free

Even as

I have no idea

What that means

I beg angels

To let me go

Because I know

They've been saving me

I ask gods

To pass judgment

Because I know

They've been letting me slide

And even as

Friends

My angels

Let me go

And even as

My children

Gods to me

Pass judgment

I still know

I owe more

Than what is being asked

Of me

And I don't 

Understand

How to reconcile that

I just have

My bleeding heart

My open mind

My curious nature

My nurturing hand

And the world just

Shuts me out

Slices away

My desire

Such an expert

Swordsman

Is fate

I question

My mastery

Of anything

At all

Stories

I want to write a story that's not mine

Fantastical

Full of wonder

Characters of substance and charisma

But my story always creeps in

People I know

Myself, 

That person I hardly know

Most of the time

I want to write a story

Of someone else

But everything I write

Is still me

Somehow

No matter the subject

Am I really that self-centered?