Using my voice and my art hasn’t felt like enough.
And lonely in this selfishness.
I even feel selfish writing this.
Like my only real problem in this world is: am I doing enough?
What a privileged and first world problem I’ve conjured up
A shame of silence that’s left echoes of guilt
Through this shame, I’ve realized my purpose
(I swear by my hugs, they’re life changing)
But In this climate, there’s no room for my love
No transparency for my smile
And so my purpose has felt stifled
And when I feel stifle, I do only what I know
I burry myself like the scorpion I am
and just stifle some more
There are real people hurting.
In need of support and encouragement
Will you continue to cower
Or will you set them free, and embrace the unknown
Instead of standing in solitude alone?”