My voice has its limits, but my mind is beautiful and boundless.

I am constantly overwhelmed. I hear the colors, I see the sounds, and my mind refuses to make sense of itself no matter how hard I try. I close my eyes only to see a mist that creates and recreates itself in indistinguishable forms, a hurricane that is ever-changing and boundless.

Writing is my only link to this boundlessness. It remains my sole outlet, my only attempt at taming my clustered yet colorful mind. Because of this, no matter how futile it can be, I gladly lasso the untamable creatures that run free in me, dragging them out with only my sense of dominance, and let them run free across a page I have prepared for them.

Without apology nor shame, I will do so until I lose my will to live.