I throw myself into the fire and am born anew.
Ashes are required for each feather that I grew.
Life's resistance withered my body while I flew.
Crowds of rejection gathered along the world's rue.

To those who would have held me back
and kept me safe and warm.
Your love is not a castle please do not look to mourn.
Only by creating friction can we shape our form.
For Friction starts the fire from which
artists must be born.

-HM Braverman