twenty three.

if i were a bit wiser, a lot braver,
what kind of future am i estranged of?

would i even choose to admit
that art was a choice i long to commit?

are there a myriad of possibilities
where i can pull cards without losing grip of control?

would i even dare to wrestle with words
and be a lot meaner than before?

among these ifs,
was there an instance
that i conveyed directly my intentions
spilled out a list of fears
and was true enough to admit them, at all?

— image from Sherry / via pinterest

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i wish i can fill your dark spaces, see the shades you love, and touch your skin as if i'm sketching on canvas. despite knowing that there are an array of colors from the Maker's palette, i might as well hope to stir them in, craft an enchanting mess of ours amidst imperfection.

--to you, from a kid with aphantasia
graphic art from Sammy, examine your zipper.

Repost from SALT + PAPER.

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heyitsmsvia

heyitsmsvia

An educator, minimalist, and a minister. At times of solitude, find me writing on nooks and crannies.