Young

Yes, I am young. My voice not yet mature, my words not yet wise, and my mind still moulding. My future not yet determined, still committing first time mistakes, learning how to survive a life never lived before.

Yes, I am young , yet does the value in my speech diminish due to a factor as simple as my age? If so, when does my word begin to claim true meaning? Amongst a world where courage to speak one's mind has become so minimal, as fear encumbered minds of youth are shut down , for their conception of the world is different than yours! Where is the line of value drawn? It cannot be written in stone , for you were once my age, and you do truly know that though one's idea may come from a different place , its value is not minimized as a whole.

My word , though still fragile , is not weak. My skin is still smooth , and my body still strong , and though my mind may not be fully developed , I have eyes - and I see! Your eyes have seen more , your lips have tasted much more bitterness and sorrow , but do not claim that I have not tasted but a drop of that pain.

I am young , that I do know, but the world has not stopped for me. I grow , and I learn to know that a voice and a value is not but a label attached to what you believe to be true, yet to what I have seen , just as you have -

for you may have seen much more, sought out for the rightest of objectives; but remember, I too can see, I too believe and feel so strongly, therefore, I too will speak.

-billee jay

-Shane Steele

-billee jay

lost

wandering down a path

a path— one unbeknownst to you —

has no end.

or perhaps it does.. just beyond the bend..

but you are not walking towards it.

if not to the end,

then where are you going?

through the unkind woods, trees looming

watching,

through night that does not care ,

that does not wait

endless , unsympathetic.

the air is crisp—

cold in a way that almost seems personal.

trails are treacherous

unwelcoming , leading nowhere in particular.

the destination?

remote. unknown.

maybe

it was never

meant to be found.

the path is not lost

but you are.

oh, how unfeeling the world must be to watch you dissapear into its shadows, no hesitation

no remorse.

to let you sink to the spaces no one seems to look.

but tell me

was it the world, so indifferent

that lost you?

Or was it You,

the one with so little

and yet

everything to lose?

among jagged ends

and harsh truths

it was you who drifted —

not into the woods

but into yourself

mind, unraveling quiet spirals

labyrinths , only lead you deeper

for to be Lost ,

is not a tragedy bestowed upon You

but a slow , quiet undoing—

so soft, subtle , that by the time you notice -

it is no longer a fate to escape;

but a question with no answer

and yet

what a lovely question it is

— billee jay

– Tony Robbins

– John Lennon

– Muriel Rukeyser

-Dr. Seuss

nihilsm paradox

Life is a waste of time.

and a masterpiece

an unpainted canvas , broken between purpose and absurdity . we spend our days asking whether we are here to create , or whether we are simply the creation , waiting to be understood by a world too distracted to listen . is existence a symphony we play , or the silence before the first note is struck ? we breathe , we move , we survive , believing we are walking a path, when perhaps we are the path itself ,

and in that still , unsettling truth, we ask: nihilism tells us life is meaningless —

but isn’t that, in itself, a meaning we create ? we endure , we exist, but does that mean we are truly living ? maybe survival is all we are meant to do , or maybe it is the only thing we’ll ever accomplish . the truth is ,

nothing is certain. we may already be finished, or perhaps we’re just beginning.

the choice is yours

we continue because we have no other option , or maybe because , in the end , that’s the only thing that truly matters :

that we keep going , knowing full well that meaning may be something we find , something we create , with every breath, fleeting moment .

you could

let your life be dictated by the void? choose to fill it?

-billee jay

-Albert Camus