creator-awakening
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(For more than a year I poured myself into a portfolio for art school. Only the pieces that felt closest to my truth made it in, and even then I wasn’t sure any of them were good enough. A panel of professionals would decide if I was worthy of a seat. I remember pacing the…
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There’s a moment, quiet as a breath, loud as a scream, where the creator finally stirs behind sleeping eyes. Not awake yet. But close. Close enough to feel the hum beneath the skin, the ancient rhythm that calls them by name, the one they forgot. Or pretended to. They stretch. Not with limbs, but with…
