Release Me

It’s quite simple, yet further than simplistic. Without the add-ons of age, life experience and society’s embellished worth, creation would be much more loyal to true expression, the boundaries less visible, if any. With my mind’s eye I look at early uninhibited delivery with jealousy and self-induced animosity. I don’t want to judge my lines before they happen, which does not translate to a desire to remove gained observations. A certain purity of expression is lost perhaps forever, although not yet accepted, if ever. I search for it incessantly on islands meant for escape, I feel I can almost capture it. And it does becomes seized, indeed, within my inner self but a constant battle to release through my hand wages on. I vow to release the brush to fly free but the brain stops at nothing.

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