I'm trying to grow. To morph. To change.

I'm trying to become a better person.

Sometimes I think its impossible.

Sometimes I feel its my only choice.

Music is still the sweetest release.

My fingers caress the bass strings; rage is gone by the pounding of drums.

Anger. Resentment. Sadness. Joy.

All are expounded upon beautifully by my predecessors.

I hide in my music to start the day.

I fall asleep to orchestras in the black of night.

So beautiful. So fragile. So powerful.

These songs mirror the arbitration of my soul.

I remember years ago when I said people are stupid.

I feel so ashamed.

In those dark days I danced along the line of misanthropy

filled with self loathing, plagued by doubt.

Now I feel hope, even in this tiny room.

I know one day I'll be free.

Free to chase dreams. Free to make love. Free to live again.

I wonder if the changes I've made are for the better

or merely a way to continue to delude myself

singing a ballad of the most trite of themes:

love lost, love found.

Found by my mother, sister, brothers, others.

Lost in the ash box of my father.

I wonder if I'll get to scatter them by the ocean

as he always said he wanted

Able to hide my secrets in the wind.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Poofs used Growth! His special attack has been raised!

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