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).