He was just a young boy writing poems, humming songs, and enjoying all the playful things of his creations. He was expecting approval from his elders, but the child was treated more like the sound of a dripping faucet. Annoyed with the conception of childhood dreams, a stern voice spoke and stifled all confidence. The young lad discovered pain, and the faucet was shut tight from that moment on. He was innocent and vulnerable, and the damage was done. Continue reading “Inspired Again”