I am a destroyer of creation I’ve broken many art installations In the gallery of my life Precious expressions trashed Paint, clay, and digital words Ripped, smashed, and deleted I have little left of my creative past Only regrets
I’ve struggled to own my journey A blessed treasure chest of failure Seeing no value in my creations Inspired art born of passion Deemed worthless by a woman Who couldn’t yet love herself I’ve destroyed my own history For fear of having to own it Leaving nothing but ashes Of regrets
Fear of unworthiness fuels My own form of self-mutilation I’ve ruined my creations In passionate moments of Self-loathing, wondering why I can’t simply love my things For the process and not the product I’ve struggled to cry for abandoned Art from my years of exploration Left to rot in every wastebin Only leaving remnants Discarded regret
To mourn the loss of Every past passion project Discarded by insecurity I wish I could see them now Honour my journey through Recognizing their imperfections Worthy little broken pieces My history reflected in my art Lost forever, they are only memories I finally understand the true meaning Of regret
