Ironic don’t you think?
These wings instinctively move with the wind,
They’re slapping at my face
Hoping I fall from the sky
Pulling but I keep pushing
Must be hunting season
Feels like I’ve got a target on my back
Critics don’t cut me any slack
I just smile and keep writing
On my way to the top
It’s a lonely ride
But I’m not ready to stop.
How bizarre it is to live on Earth.
How your life can flip in an instant.
How you think you have vision,
but your sight is actually muffled from sleep,
from believing that enough is all you deserve.
You remain blinded in a puddle of selling yourself short.
The illusion. The mysteries of our world.
The fine, near invisible line
that only some are lucky enough to notice and conquer.
Continue reading Waves, Until They Weren’t