For me to live a life void of expression
means to not live at all.
Yet I’ve ignored the true desire of my heart for so long
it seems my craft has become rusty and dull.
Thoughts used to be able to slice words
through page after page.
But now I find them jagged and weak-
forcefully driving them deep into paper,
where they used to flow with life and speak.
But gardens don’t grow
that have been neglected of seed.
I’ve neglected Inspiration’s trimming and pruning,
let my beautiful flowers by choked by weeds.
You can only hold out on who you are
for so long until you become nothing at all.
Trying to live the hopes and dreams of others
until you hear a forgotten voice whisper inside of you
reminding you of your call.
But the artist doesn’t announce it for all the world to see.
It’s not a dream you go out to obtain
or a career path you go down to earn your degree.
It’s accepting the creative voice that lives inside
and deciding to be.
But the artist doesn’t check in and check out
day after day without a cost-
they must bear the atonement for all the emotions and stories
humans have bottled up to be forgotten and lost.
We bear the weight of emotions upon our shoulders
feel them, digest them, and throw them
back up onto our work
and grieve with each new creation,
as a mother giving birth.
It’s a tortured love affair,
a marriage from within.
The artist to her brush,
the writer to his pen.
But when we stand back and admire our creations
and behold what we’ve given birth to,
we know our soul was meant for this moment,
dreaming is what we were born to do.