actually, i CAN Blog

There's a storm inside me, ravenous, unyielding, tearing through marrow and bone. It howls my name, shaking the walls of a house already crumbling. No light reaches here. No sound but the crash of waves, the gnash of despair against the cliffs of my soul. I reach for the blade like a lover, its cold kiss a promise, its edge a choir of sirens. "Let me free you," it sings, and I listen because nothing else will. The sting is a hymn; it drowns the storm for a moment, but the silence never lasts. Each etch I draw, a map- a desperate attempt to chart what cannot be spoken, what cannot be seen. But the ink runs red, and the map leads nowhere but back to places where the wreckage began. I sink deeper, my hands shaking, my breath heavy with the weight of shadows. I think, maybe this is all I am: a body breaking under its own weight, a canvas for pain, a vessel for despair. But then— a flicker, faint as a candle's breath. A whisper rises, not from the blade, but from somewhere...

For so long, I thought the moments of light were illusions—temporary escapes from a reality I couldn’t face. But as I stood in the clarity of my own truth, I realized the dream was never the lie. It was the fear of believing in it that kept me trapped.

The graveyard holds the silent echoes of unfulfilled potential—the wealth of dreams that never saw the light of day, brilliance that never broke the surface. It’s not the world’s banks or towering skylines that house the most untapped riches. It’s the rows of headstones, the cold ground beneath them, cradling forgotten ideas and ambitions that perished in the hearts of those too afraid to act. In the graveyard lies the unwritten novel that could have changed the way we see the world. There’s a melody buried that might have stirred souls for generations. The blueprint for an innovation that could have redefined entire industries lies dormant, sealed away by doubt. The graveyard is heavy with the weight of what could have been—but never was. But here you are. Still breathing. Still standing. The soil beneath your feet is not yet ready to take you. That gnawing fear, the one that convinces you it’s safer to stay quiet, to keep your ideas tucked away—it's a lie that feeds the graveyard...