The walls speak to me,
They have stories to tell, just like me.
They've become my friends.
The cracks and bumps match the memories on my skin.
My mind is ripe with direction.
I listen to the mumbles of the brick and respond with an ear full of colour.
It's a discussion, not a speech.
I'm a participant, not a dictator.
Too much space is taken and not asked for.
Images invade and interfere with our insides and insights.
We forget before we even know.
We are disrupted when we flow,
Straining our neck to look within.
I will remove the shackles off your eyes,
With five full fingers and one full heart.
Will give life to a space seen but forgotten.
I listen to what should be heard,
To the feelings and not the words.
Creation is the path, not the purpose.
I will follow it to the horizon,
And If I'm lucky, I will get lost.