Crept

The voice crept through the walls and fueled the spark of doubt that would later consume its host.

An Artist's Heart

Someone once told me that for an artist to capture the beauty of the world, they must first be exposed to the deepest of pains.

To transport one to another place, they have to first experience the deepest and darkest of its secrets.

An artist experiences levels of the world that others simply cannot imagine, much less describe.

For that reason, I find myself swept away by what others may pass with a grain of salt.
Those simple folk criticize the nightmares of my walk.

To them, I apologize.

I apologize because they cannot even begin to comprehend the contrast available to me.
For while the hellish prison holds stronger, the eventual freedom proves sweeter.

I live with a heightened sense of awareness to the seemingly trivial passings of life.
I live with the gift of experiencing pain in order to rejoice in the power of healing.

An artist bears more than they should carry, but they reap more than they knew was capable of being sown.

So thank you to those that hurt, that stole, or that passed by me. Whether you knew it or not, you gave me another color to paint with.

And I intend to use them all.

Disgust

It seems unfair that the sight of you

-which used to fill me with hope and excitement-

 now consumes my thoughts with disappointment and my heart with disgust.


If only you noticed.

Kneel and Pray

Why do I always do the talking?

Rather then let silence reign in order to make you think, I fill in the lines and cover up your wrongdoings. Instead of letting you stand on your own to feet, I make myself the bad guy.

You hurt me.

Yet I am the one apologizing.

I am afraid of what may come if I truly stand up for myself, so I kneel and pray that I'm not too tall.

Here I am.

I despise what you can do to me.

You leave me defeated, overwhelmed, and uninspired.
I end up feeling alone, worthless, and unwanted.

Silently, I vow to leave you behind.
I promise to take better care of myself.


Then I see you.


And suddenly you are back in.
I convince myself that things will be different.
You will be different.

Yet here I am.

To Clutch to the Past or to Move On?

I loved you.

Not romantically, mind you.
But I did love you.

But perhaps love is too strong a word.

Love is two sided.

It requires a sacrifice of self for another, and the reciprocation from that person.
It gives and takes as it must.
It actively finds ways to grow and manifest itself boldly.

I shouldn't have cared for you.
We should have cared for each other.

I shouldn't have tried so hard.
We should have been a team.

I shouldn't still be grasping at fragments of the past.
We should be laughing together.

Second chances are necessary.
But you've had about a hundred too many of them.