I am a thirty-something artist. All I really know how to do and do well is listen and create, so that is what I do, over and over again.
Who am i?
I am the singer who cannot sing
words caught somewhere between my mind and my throat
trapped in the prison of my being
desperate to escape
desperate to express themselves
A tone deaf lyricist who yearns to be heard
who is destined to revolutionize
inspire and catalyze the generations yet to come.
I am the artist who cannot paint
and not for wanting, filled to the brim with genius
but whose colors always come out brown.
The owner of canvas, and easels,
oils and paints
charcoal and sketch pads empty and stacked in a corner.
With art spilling from my fingertips leaving stains on my keyboard
and remnants of me on everything I touch.
I am the actor too absorbed in herself to portray a character.
Like a genie to his master
I am a slave to the written word.
I am a poet.
I am communication.
I am yearning
I am the said and the unsaid.
The thought and the plight.
I am the the circle with no beginning
a walking contradiction
synecdoche of being…
I am life.
I am death.
I am love and loss.
I am everything at once,
and nothing at all.