I remind myself even broken words, even messy pages can still give me a word I need in order just to stay motivated again,
I remind myself sometimes these words are clumsy, not polished, not pretty, but it still carries a meaning,
I remind myself a spark that don’t ask if the lamp is gold—but it just burns where there’s dry wood keeps waiting.
I confess I checked each covers, the author, the big reputation, and I missed the small truth in me beyond I can see,
I confess I thought wisdom had to come dressed in all perfect grammar, in holy speech, in clean rhymed phrases,
I confess I was blind, and maybe ashamed, when what I needed was already whispering too close.
I believe some words heal even if the one who spoke them having the hard time to stay convinced,
I believe wisdom walks where it wants, not waiting for a temple, not waiting for any applause,
I believe the only test is this—did it help me stand straighter after, motivated or did it pass like the wind that blows through my skin.
So I choose to taste the fruit first, not throw away the tree before I even try,
So I choose to keep what heals, even if it comes in broken language, in strange voices, as long at its in pure honesty
So I choose what makes me better, even if I did not see anybody claps, even if the vessel looks unworthy.
⸻
• Wisdom don’t need any permission
• Fruit bears before the tree
• Keep what truly heals
• Broken words still carry a fire within
• It’s Vessel doesn’t matter
