Foremost, I have laid bare my heart to receive a pathway of experiences. It took a lot of violence to become this soft, welcoming both love and pain. So far, I’ve learned the delicate art of sincere forgiveness. Yet as I ponder the form of someone’s apology, I become aware that it transcends my understanding, reaching into realms beyond my capacity. Due to perceive that I have nothing, but a prayer that will never stops learning and forgiving.

Let me share with you a secret I’ve never told as noteworthy tragedy, recently it brought me joy when I remembered beautiful things since someone once told me that whatever I do carries a certain beauty. Their words were more than mere praise, they etched themselves into my being with an unhurried pace. And so, I wove them into poetry, capturing the fleeting moments that leave their mark sincerely. It’s in the way my lipstick stains the rim of a cup of tea, or how I find myself comparing every little detail of our gesture to a word plea.

Convincing them is the solitary endeavor that occupies my thoughts, for each soul bears its own scars. Whispers of trials faced, and heartaches weathered. Deep within, there resides an innate yearning to transform these very wounds into a wellspring of vitality, a source from which life flows anew. If only fate would grant me the opportunity, I would aspire to craft something profoundly meaningful, an imprint upon their minds that lingers long after our paths have crossed. I yearn to awaken in them the realization of the paramount importance of self-love, a gentle reminder that to cherish oneself is to embrace the essence of their existence.

Pleasant things have lifted me to heights I never expected, if I may say so. This year has been a dance of joys and sorrows, each moment shaping me in ways I didn’t anticipate. But amidst all the changes, one lesson stands out, marking the journey from the beginning of the year to its end. It’s a lesson that has shifted something deep within me, a realization that feels different from the rest. So much has changed in these months, in ways both subtle and profound, and I find myself looking back at how far I’ve come—how each twist and turn has transformed me into an amazing entity.

Deeply within my being, I will reopen my notebook. Its pages wait to be filled with the rawness of my anger, letting each word spill out like a torrent of emotion, messy and untamed. The ink will bleed across the paper, forming poems that are imperfect, yet entirely mine. Or perhaps, I’ll turn to my sketchbook—its cover worn and its pages crease with age, but still holding space for whatever I need to pour onto them. With every stroke of the pencil, I will breathe life back into it, sketching the chaos inside me in shapes and lines only I can understand. I may not be a great poet, nor a skilled painter, and I am aware of my limitations, but that doesn't matter. With each mark, I’ll capture the fire within me. Not as something to fear, but as something to embrace and shape. I will be exactly what I need to be, someone who channels the storms inside into something creative, something beautiful. The anger, though fierce, becomes the very fuel that drives me to create. It will no longer be a weight, but a spark igniting my art, giving me something lasting to hold onto, and reminding me that even the darkest emotions can lead to something bright. Art may not always be perfect, but it will be real, and it will be mine.

I’m just here to help bring out the best in what we already have, and you know how to please others with love. It’s heartwarming to know that my existence resonates with you, I take pride in your ability to uplift spirits and foster positivity for those around you. 🤍