I've been thinking a lot about how writers bleed words in ink; the artist in paint. The photographer behind the lens. The one who molds clay between the palms of their hands. I've noticed a common link with all creatives - we all feel so...
I want real. I want raw. I want to see your vulnerability - not your staged highlighted reel. Β I don't want fancy words about how wonderful you are. Convince yourself as I already know you are made of magic and stars. I want to see you...
You tried to put me in a box I smashed all four walls And shattered the ceiling How about you Worry about your own damn ego And I'll worry about me and mine You keep judging me By the words of your God As I continue to forgive Showing you the...
