Art is Shared

The more I write, the more I am finding I don't like the idea that art is under the sole ownership of the person who wrote it. I'm not advocating that artist's not be paid for their work, or that record labels, publishers or art galleries should own exclusive rights to any artwork. I am saying the opposite. Artist's don't write, paint or play for themselves. Yes, there is a release from creating, but there is also a cry for relation. I cannot write a piece of work for myself, in the sense that I intend to find someone, anyone that will look at it and say, 'I feel like this was written for me.'
I don't think I am alone in thinking that if I were to write for myself I would feel terribly alone. In fact, I fear being alone more than death. Art is everyone. The audience, the writer, the collaborator, we all take ownership. If we can't relate to each other as humans, then we cannot relate at all.

Overwhelming Authority

We must through many tribulations enter the kingdom of God...

Yet in ALL THESE THINGS we are MORE THAN CONQUERORS through Him who loved us...

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not to be compared with the GLORY which shall be revealed in us...

And the God of peace will CRUSH Satan under your feet shortly...

To him who overcomes I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it...

He who overcomes I will make a pillar in the temple of My God, and he shall go out no more. I will write on him the name of My God and the name of the city of My God...

To him who overcomes I will grant to sit with Me on My throne, as I also overcame and sat down with My Father on His throne.

Dichotomy

I'm a shipwreck barely seaworthy
Sailing into the deep and carried by the wind
With a crew of insecurities
And a bipolar captain
I am a broken vessel saved only by my momentum
The wind never ends unless I go against Him
If I anchor I may sink
But only self-pity can sink this ship
I have no port of call
I search for a waterfall falling upward
So I may slip into its stream
And find my dreams in His paradise

I'm a broken mirror
Trying desperately to reflect
The image that I see
And the light that gives me rest
Through these many cracks you'll see the black that fills my chest
You might call me cursed
I'd call it blessed
I fight through rooted word
Fighting demons of my past
Crying for the one
Who can help me fix this glass

I'm a soft stuffed toy
Coming apart at the seems
I'm undone, unhindered
And spilling out all my dreams
Like my insides flowing out of my wide open chest
I see some parts I love and some I detest
You'll look upon me both disturbed and in awe
Either way my friend
You'll look at me different than before

This is not a hopeless life
Nor a final cry
Through all hell I've fought
And in all ways I've died
And I know You'll mend me
You'll fill all my needs
I love how You've made me
But I hate how I bleed