i try too hard to write the words that only my soul can say,

seeking inspiration from sweat instead of tears,

and reaching for a pen that bleeds instead of a hand that heals.



my body says, "tomorrow." my mind too easily echoes,

but with patient sighs i wait,

with folded hands i listen,

and with all the gratitude i can muster, you mute my screaming insides.



speak, lord, for your servant is listening.

my song-writing self-discipline starts today. Lord, help me (seriously).