(PAGE ONE) CHAPTER TWO

Last time I said this I was crying

I'm not afraid to say it, the last time I said this, I was crying

Inner child beating on my rib cage

I remember it so vivid, so vivid up until this day

The last time I said this I was crying

And as that tear rolled down my cheek

Past the lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow

I didn’t understand what they had planned for me tomorrow

The last time I said this

It was a cold day in September

Exchanging words with a friend

Outside a church, if I can remember

And a person I hold close words

Now paraphrased in text

Said my art wasn't worth the figures written on a cheque

Instantly a rage built up inside of me

Making me blind to see the third can of Strongbow she had sipped

Which in turn making her blind to much her words may have ripped

They said I was born with a gift

I said I was cursed with talent

Then left alone to manage.

Alone. No direction. No recipe, so I grafted.

Slammed through page after page, went to meeting after meeting

Listened to every lecture thrown my vicinity

and then some–

'Till out of all my pores oozed creativity

But unlike Da Vinci, I found beauty in a lack of symmetry

I crafted myself into the Vitruvian man

And asked the world, "What do you see?"

A response was given loosely: Radiance.

Like I was the new Basquiat staring at the untitled skull

Like it was a portrait of me

Warm on a surface, sporting an expression that makes you question

Is it all worth it?

For you, I've given my mind, body & spirit

So it's safe to say I'm yet to see my worth defined

by a digit.

The last time I said this I was crying

I'm not afraid to say it, the last time I said this

I was crying.

Who else can I trust to write my legacy but me?

I may never be the greatest

But I will be the greatest success story the world has ever seen