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“The sadness will last forever.”
- Suicide note of Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890)
I know why Vincent Van Gogh Cut off his own ear

We are a mad bunch, you see
Poets and painters and playwrights
On the prowl for something to
jump start our perpetual yearnings,
our keen senses and cravings,
on the quest for so much more
than the status quo,
of merely checking off just another day
from our calendars

We are those kinds of people
Who wish to reinvent the world
Often cursing at our failings and insecurites
While obsessively working to shape and sculpt
our view of this planet
To fit our own brand of imagination
To satisfy our starving hopes
and desperate dreams
To foster vivid visions
from the views that are vague  
And to wipe away
The nightmares of old
that cry out in us

We believe in make-believe
We who are misfits to "normalcy"
We rarely seem to fit into
The "real world"
Yet we know that this world is
Pure insanity
Stark madness
Sheer perplexion
Yet we are the ones
suffering for the sake
of our art
Often misunderstood
Many times branded as "weirdos"

I can understand the pain
Of not getting my art right
Of not seeing its worth
Because someone sniffed at it
Or scoffed at it
Or blindly passed it by
Many times, we want to break through
And join the world of our works of art
But we can't
We're stuck in the middle of its beauty
And nothingness

Yes
I know why Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear
Rolling hills weep
Over a flourishing village

The winds are waves
Wandering
To wherever they may
In oceans
Blue as sapphires

Dark flames roar
Up to the clouds
Towering beyond
The tallest building

Swirls like
Northern lights

Appearing
Over
A village within
Dreams

Blue
Yellow
Orange
Like fire
Shimmering
In the darkness of dusk
In the radiant sea
of your delicately
coarse red hair
there are waves and ripples
microscopic  masses
of peculiar people
like you and me
I’ve seen the
stroke of genius
in your incessant
and persistent strokes
mired with madness
an inexplicable sadness
you and I know
where your stare leads
what echoes and stirs
of haunting thoughts
lay within your mind
that produced such priceless art
you manipulated pigments and hues
into what you couldn’t
do with words
you formulated ideas
and conjured emotions
in the lives of lovely
strangers who never
had the privilege of loving you back
I can’t own your originality
I barely possess your
authenticity where it matters most
you and I are kindred souls
carefully orchestrated accidents
in the midst of a
compromising world
now your starry nights
are my cloudy days
your variation of blues
are the robust soundtrack
of an inconsolable vagabond
searching for her voice
in a literary chaotic world
there was a man  named Vincent a painter man was he
and he had life so of full tragedy
a lonely man was he. torn part inside
and behind his pictures he would try to  hide.

he would paint so beautiful for all the world to see
to ease his troubled mind and try to set it free
although his life was troubled  his art was of the best
until he took a gun and held it to his chest.

it was such a sin too take his life away
the pictures that he did are with us till this day
 Mar 2015 Jennifer Gonzalez
mia
A cultural giant
Though his life was short
Full of talent
His work never caught
The eye of the public
Anybody who understood
Because he was indeed
Misunderstood
It wasn't just talent
Or love or art
It was emotion and passion
From his beating heart
He was an artist
With a burning desire
Hardly lived just loved
His own works melted in fire
Artist
Passion
Art
Desire
Twitter, youtube
Facebook, snapchat
the world use to be huge,
now it's tiny & flat.
The world is so small thanks to the internet machine
Hashtag done.
Hashtag I give up.
Hashtag tired.
Hashtag alone.

All we ever talk about anymore is hashtags and Instagram and texts and snapchat.

I'm done.

I miss the face to face contact.
The way someone's eyes light up or dim down in reaction to something.

I miss the way your hand feels when you place it on mine.

I miss your hugs.

And I miss your voice.

And I'm able to talk about anything with you over a text message, but I'm afraid that you don't want to talk to me, person to person.

I like to think that we have a great friendship, but I realize that we don't.

You FaceTime and call other people, but you won't do that for me.

I try to initiate more conversation than we have, but I feel like you hold back.

I pour some of my heart out into a message that I sent and your only response is an emoji.

I'm hurt.
As childish as it sounds, I'm hurt.

I'm broken and I feel like you keep taking pieces of me away.

I'm broken and I wish you would actually talk and listen to me instead of typing it out.

I miss you because there's no one else and I'm sorry that there isn't.

I don't mean to burden you with everything that's wrong, but when you say that you're there for me, I expect you to follow through.

I miss you a lot.
And I need you to know that.
Because you mean so much to me.

And I know I don't mean as much to you...
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