Before this gets any better
Creativity is a talent in itself.
Aspark, a whisper,
a hum beneath the skin,
before it’s even a word.
Spoken on other rappers,
not just their flows,
their rhyme schemes, their beats,
but the audacity, the nerve,
to stand and share.
To pull from the etherand make it solid,
a thing to hold, to feel.
That’s the root.
Personally,
stressing this to anyonewilling to read this,
and not make any comment,
and give this a think,
or as it may be a thought for you.
It’s the lonely hour,
when the world sleeps,
and the mind,
a restless sea,
throws up pearls,
or just driftwood.
And you,
the solitary sailor,
gather them,
examine them.
It's not about applause,
not yet.
Not about being heardabove the din.
It’s about the quiet hum,
the internal echo.
The feeling,
when a line clicks,
a phrase lands just right,
a connection is made,
unseen by anyone else.
It’s the messy draft,
the crumpled paper,
the deleted sentence.
The brave actof putting something out there,
even if it’s just for yourself,
a testamentto the urge to create,
to translate the ineffable.
It’s the observation,
the detail noticed,
the color of the skyat a peculiar hour,
the way a stranger walks,
the forgotten scentof old books.
And then,
the alchemy,
turning that into something more,
something that resonates,
even if only in the echo chamberof your own skull.
This is the seed,
the untamed growth,
before the pruning,
before the presentation,
before the judgment.
This is the raw material,
the divine spark,
the messy, beautifulbirth.
And it is enough,
in its own right.
Atalent, pure and simple.
Awillingness to be,
and to express.
That’s the start.
The whole story,
sometimes,
is just that beginning.