The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt 👹

Fragile does not mean weak. It means: handle with reverence.

you sketch tomorrow, neat and bright, with measured steps and ends in sight. yet life delights in crooked seams, in altered stars and broken dreams. the road you named may drift and bend, fall into turns you didn’t intend. but from the wreck, in scattered hue, rise hidden colors, strange and new. from tangled hours, from undone art, chaos leaves perfume on the heart. what felt like loss begins to be another form of becoming free. so let the river choose its way, let restless winds decide the day. your pulse still knows, your hands can see plans are drafts, not destiny. step softly into mystery, release the need for certainty. the unknown hums a quiet plea: trust the flow, and let it be.

I chased the gold, I chased the blaze, wore borrowed crowns of shining praise. The world leaned in, I held it fast, believing power was built to last. Fame whispered songs in velvet tone, a sweet illusion, brightly sewn. Yet not one note, however deep, could warm the chill that shadows keep. The mirror swore I was complete unbroken will, perfected feat. I ruled the hours, bent the days, thought time itself would know my face. Then death arrived—no knock, no sound, no bargain struck, no holy ground. It peeled my titles, name, and flame, and left me bare, without my claim. All that glittered fell to dust, the throne, the strength, the fragile trust. In silence now, the truth is said no crown outlives the breath we shed. So hear the hymn the ending breath sings softly still—no soul outpaces death.

𝐵𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝐵𝑒 𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝐴𝑛𝑦𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑃𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒. 𝑁𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑢𝑝

I chased the gold, I chased the blaze, wore borrowed crowns of shining praise. The world leaned in, I held it fast, believing power was built to last. Fame whispered songs in velvet tone, a sweet illusion, brightly sewn. Yet not one note, however deep, could warm the chill that shadows keep. The mirror swore I was complete unbroken will, perfected feat. I ruled the hours, bent the days, thought time itself would know my face. Then death arrived—no knock, no sound, no bargain struck, no holy ground. It peeled my titles, name, and flame, and left me bare, without my claim. All that glittered fell to dust, the throne, the strength, the fragile trust. In silence now, the truth is said no crown outlives the breath we shed. So hear the hymn the ending breath sings softly still—no soul outpaces death.