Death: keeper of souls, destroyer of homes. You have greedily taken my father’s happiness and devoured on his trepidation. My mother’s right to a mother. My right to freedom. I tried to escape you like the truth escapes a lie. Like a knot escapes its tie. But your grip is strong, and your being is venomous. You try to clip my wings and chain my ankles to the post and throw me scheming friends, dead ends, failures, and trials that almost make my mind explode. Some of them have left scars while some of them have planted seeds for growth. For this I both scold you and thank you.
Many nights I lie awake thinking, and on one particular night I wondered why I was on this Earth. Why hadn’t you taken me at the moment of conception? The moments I’ve crossed the street without looking both ways or carelessly conversed with suspicious, straggling strangers? On this particular night I realized that the reason I still have warm, red blood running through my veins is because I have been given the ability and responsibility to create. My purpose is to create music that pieces individuals back together and speaks for those who do not have a voice.
When I do this you do not exist. I am not afraid of you anymore because I ooze potential and greatness by the gallon while you walk shores of malice with your rusted talons. You have shrunk my courage like the sun shrinks a raisin or seed, but I continue to flourish despite the concrete. While I bend words and stretch notes, I ignore your tiring schemes like a pirate ignores the rules of the sea. When I do this, I am free.