Creativity is deep, yet is destroyed by man. Taken advantage of, simply because of anatomy within. Hierarchy of manipulation, ideas of demise, putting it down because you're sick of your lies. You believe you’re creative, that you’re over me, and by putting down my dreams, you’re helping me.
It’s not about comfort, but insecurity. I can know who I am, but you’re still authority. And it’s only because of what society has raised you to be, because of the prevalence of male patriarchy. My emotions and creativity are all of my own; you think you ignite them but you don’t even know. I came from you, but am not the same; I’m motivated to make something of my name.
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