Clueless Ink

I’ve always liked being backstage,

Still talked about, but never on display.

Where my ideas take shape,

My vision unfolds,

And the magic happens long before the world sees.

Because when something is on display,

It has to be perfect,

Polished for the world, or at least for some.

But some things aren’t meant for the audience.

They belong in the quiet,

Where I create, rehearse, refine.

Where there’s no need for perfection.

Only creation.

The kind that feels closest to self-actualization.

A space just for me, 

To jam, to stumble, to build something real or unreal.

Something that, with time,

Might reach thousands, or not.

Might be felt, might be known, or remain unknown.

Even if no one ever sees the light of it,

It’s mine,

A space to dig into my mind,

For art, for fun, or for nothing at all.