Clay dust in the air, records on low,
Hands on the wheel, see where the rhythm goes.
Every groove’s a lesson, every crack’s a clue
The sculpture don’t know it’s art ’til you’re through.

Started as a lump with no direction,
Life kept carving out its own correction.
Chisel of time, hammer of doubt,
Knocked off the pieces that held me out.
I tried to stay smooth, but the grain got deep,
Pressure makes pattern, that’s how forms keep.
No sketches here, just instinct play,
The masterpiece don’t rush its clay.

I’m just shapin’, shapin’,
In the hands of the days that I’m facin’.
Every line, every dent, every glaze I’ve worn
Still in the kiln of becoming reborn.

Spin that wheel, metaphor in motion,
Balance the slip with a dose of devotion.
Life’s my studio … messy but kind,
Every misfire rewires the mind.
Critics say “rough,” I call it “real texture,”
Flaws are the frame for a deeper architecture.
Even Dada had its logic half-bent
Imperfection’s just design with intent.

I’m just shapin’, shapin’,
In the hands of the days that I’m facin’.
Every chip, every mark, every line I’ve drawn
Still in the kiln of becoming reborn.

See, I’m the sculptor and the stone,
Molding myself, breaking bone.
Cast in bronze or left in clay,
Either way, I hold my say.
Art ain’t neat … it’s fingerprints,
The proof that touch and truth make sense.

Keep shapin’, shapin’,
All these hands of fate I’m chasin’.
One day the cracks will catch the light,
And I’ll see the work was always right.

I sign it with breath, not ink.
Masterpiece? Maybe.
But it’s still drying,
And that’s the beauty, I think.

They built empires out of silence,
Painted over wounds with gold.
But you can still hear the truth
In the cracks of the mould.
Every wall hums with memory,
Every statue hides a scream
But clay remembers hands
That tried to shape the dream.

We were carved from resistance, not permission,
Voices pressed into stone by omission.
They called it order … we called it cage,
Our breath still echoes through every age.
Rights to stand, to shape, to see,
The right to self-determination, equality.
We oppose the chisels of control,
Oppression of the spirit, occupation of the soul.
Systemic chains dressed up as law,
Still we sculpt justice from the flaws.
This isn’t just rebellion … it’s restoration,
The art of breaking imperial narration.

We rise from dust, from stone, from pain,
Each crack a chorus that whispers our name.
Peace won’t come through exclusion or fear
Only through justice, equality clear.
From silence to song, from shadow to light,
We’re sculpting our freedom through the long night.

Old buildings lean with untold stories,
Columns built on someone else’s glories.
We inherit their ghosts, but not their rules
We rebuild truth with broken tools.
They tried to whitewash every face,
Called domination a “sacred place.”
But art don’t lie … it testifies,
Against every wall that colonized the skies.
Anti-racist rhythm, human tone,
We fight for the rights that were always our own.
From the rubble of lies, we design again,
A world where justice wears every skin.

No more marble gods of exclusion,
No more thrones built on illusion.
We are the architects of a new day,
Healing the fractures they left in our clay.
True peace, true safety, can only be born
Where no one’s erased, no one’s torn.
We don’t rise to rule … we rise to mend,
The sculpture of truth will never bend.

We rise from dust, from stone, from pain,
Each crack a chorus that whispers our name.
Peace won’t come through exclusion or fear
Only through justice, equality clear.
From silence to song, from shadow to light,
We’re sculpting our freedom through the long night.

This is for the hands that refused to break,
For the clay that cracked but did not forsake.
For every voice that trembled, then roared
For every truth they tried to ignore.
We are art in motion,
We are history undone.
The sculpture of truth
Is still being spun.

They said, “fit in”.
They said, “stay quiet”.
They said, “be nice, don’t start a riot”.
But I was never built for their mold.
I was born for the truth untold.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…
Who am I when I stop trying to please them all?

World keeps selling versions of me,
Barcode dreams, identity on lease.
Told to polish what don’t shine right,
Dim my fire just to fit their light.
But courage don’t bloom in comfort zones,
It’s carved in the cracks, born in the bones.
Fear says “wait,” but my soul says “go,”
The edge of the unknown is where I grow.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…
Am I living, or just well-behaved and stalled?

Everything I wanted waits beyond fear,
Every truth I buried calls me near.
I won’t trade freedom for their applause,
I’m done rehearsing someone else’s cause.

Fear kills more dreams than failure’s hand,
Builds quiet prisons across the land.
They say “be humble,” but they mean “be small,”
Keep your voice low, keep your spine to the wall.
Nah, I’m rewriting every rule they made,
Painting rebellion in every shade.
I’d rather stumble loud than fade polite,
‘Cause trying once beats sleeping through life.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…
What’s scarier: trying or not at all?

They said “change the world,” but the truth is raw
When you can’t change it, you change who you are.
Fear’s a reaction, courage a choice,
and freedom begins the moment you use your voice.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…
Did I ever see myself at all?

Be fearless in the fire you face,
Every scar just proof of grace.
Everything you lose that’s not you,
Makes space for the self breaking through.

I’ve walked with fear, I’ve danced with doubt,
Learned what silence was really about.
But truth don’t whisper, it roars to be found,
And courage ain’t born, it’s forged underground.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…
Is courage born or carved by the fall?

Once you face the mirror,
You see the prison was never real.
Fear’s reflection fades,
And all that’s left… is you.

They told me to hide the cracks.
But I learned the light needs somewhere to enter.
So I left the gold where the breaking began.

I’m not porcelain, I’m proof.
Every scar’s a line of truth.
I’ve been shattered in slow motion,
Glued back with devotion.
You call it damage … I call it design,
God signed His name right down my spine.
Broke once? Nah, broke open.
That’s how the soul gets golden.

I used to beg for seamless skin,
Now I brag about the glow within.
Cracks don’t leak … they breathe.
Every loss gave space to breathe me.
I ain’t fragile; I’m refined.
Pressure just polished the divine.
People see flaws, I see maps
I’ve been travelling through my collapse.

Don’t need perfect, just honest.
Don’t need whole, just conscious.
If beauty breaks, then let it.
If it bleeds gold, don’t forget it.
The past still shines through every seam
I’m living proof that cracks can dream.

I used to call it failure
Now I call it art.
Every time I fell apart,
The universe painted me with gold.
So if you see me glimmer in the dark,
That’s not polish
That’s history turned holy.

The wave isn’t here to drown you.
It’s here to define you.

What breaks the stone, shapes the pearl.
What strips the shore, leaves it shining.

I stood where the shoreline ends,
Where silence and thunder blend.
Every crash carved a truth in me,
Every pull taught surrender to be free.
The sea whispered, “You are glass reborn,”
Cut by grace, not meant to mourn.
If love is a tide, then pain’s its rhyme 
It all refines with borrowed time.

You can’t stop the waves,
But you can learn to surf.

So I stopped fighting the motion,
And let faith do the work.

I am sea glass, I am tide,
Softened edges where I once cried.
Every storm just sang me clean,
Turned my scars into a gleam.
The tide will recede… I’ll remain,
A shimmer born from salt and pain.

Pebbles hum beneath my feet,
Each mistake a heartbeat’s beat.
Shells and cliffs remember too,
The ways they broke, the ways they grew.
I used to beg the storm to cease,
Now I see chaos carving peace.
Even reefs that cracked in two,
Built new worlds the current drew.

Rock bottom became the solid foundation
On which I rebuilt my life.

I drowned in what I thought I’d lost,
Only to rise… refined, embossed.
Change isn’t cruel; it’s divine,
The ocean rewrote every line.
Every fragment, gold in disguise
God’s reflection in the lows and highs.

I am sea glass, I am tide,
Softened edges where I once cried.
Every wave that broke my frame,
Whispered softly, “You’re still the same.”
Every fault became design,
Every fracture, holy line.

Even the roughest wave polishes the stone it touches.

So let it polish. Let it roar.
You’re not drowning… you’re becoming more.
What looks like ending is just the start,
The storm’s not punishment, it’s art.

The wave knows no resistance. It becomes what it meets.
I became the sea; the sea became me.
Erosion turned devotion,
And I found peace in motion.
What we call chaos is just patterns unrecognized.
I’m not lost… I’m synchronized.

I am sea glass, I am tide,
Baptized in breakage, sanctified.
Every crash rewrote my song,
Proving weakness can be strong.
The ocean stirs my heart to flame,
Whispers softly… remember your name.

Every wave, regardless of how high or low it crests,
Must eventually break.

And when it does,
I’ll still be shining.

Sea glass
Born of the storm.