(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