Sacred Restraint

There are poems inside me that paper can’t hold, and paintings that would tear through canvas before the first stroke is made. I desire violently. I want to lunge at everything I ache for.. to tear open the veil between me and it. But instead, I wait. Not from weakness, but from something deeper than impulse— a sacred restraint. So I sit back, danger caged in discipline. The longing isn’t gentle. It devours time like fire through silk. And still— I wait. Because I know: the stars must shift, the sky must bend, and only then will what I seek have permission to find me. Sometimes, I fear I live in poetry I can’t write. I’m simply an artist. I love my muses. These experiences.. written just for me.. are gifts. To be constantly inspired, to crave inspiration itself, is a gift. I love studying who I become within the experience. Studying myself through every wave, every moment.. because the true muse is me. My reactions, my upgrades, my silly, goofy girl moments, my disgusting moments— all of it. I am the subject, the student, and the masterpiece.