Artists.
Praised by lovers
Adored by dreamers
But also victims of the ridicule of over-achievers

I've dipped my toe in both waters
I've seen the world learn how to swim
While artists took a dive in the ocean
I've heard the world practice its symphonies for ages
While artists created their own

For the artist doesn't aim for perfection
It aims for satisfaction

Do not be fooled by the artist who fills galleries with red roses
For those thorns have endlessly scorched the walls of his soul
Do not be fooled by the artist who's arms stretch to the sky
For those muscles have been the victim of life's cruel judgement
Do not be fooled by an artist's kind words
For they have learned how to make lies sound like love

Do not be fooled by an artist's fears
For they've discovered the ocean
In hopes of loosing the sea

At the end of the day, you're the only one sleeping.

My eyes watery, your eyes closed;

My brain racing and yours doesn't know.

Sometime I wish
That someone would just
Diagnose me.
With depression
Or
Anxiety
Or
The like.

Instead of just feeling it
Inside,
I would have a word to put to it.
A word I knew
That other people shared.

Maybe then I wouldn't feel
So alone.
And maybe then
It wouldn't be wrong
That I feel so wrong.
And maybe then
I wouldn't feel bad
About feeling bad
All the time.

Please someone
Diagnose me.
So that I can have a reason
For feeling
This way.

I dream of darkness
Its all that I do
No matter when I'm asleep
Its always that hue
Behind my eyes
There is no movie
A broken projector
No signs to move me
I can't make believe
I can't see farther
My own mind
I can't even author
I'm blank.

I'm tired
My body is older
My mind weighs more
Decisions are everywhere
Politics is suddenly relevant
The state of the world is not good
I hope I can make it through life at all
Happiness seems more elusive every day
My future is ever uncertain and unclear and scary
And every single day seems to get worse and worse
Does this madness not end do the trials not cease and why
Why is it so?
I'm so tired

Winds whip wildly
Cold completely caresses
Fire flees from
Sight swiftly smoldering
Ashes arrive abruptly
Death deals discretely
People plea profusely
“God! Give grace!”
Lacking love, lamenting
Rage, riot, refusal
To try tediously
Being bold believers

I am a poet
And as such, a fool
For it's stories they want
Great tales, heroes too
They want lies and adventure
They don't bother with poems
They'd rather read trash
They want gossip and news
They don't want the truth
They equate poems to math
Poetry is bland
Too tasteless
No ACTION
Give us the movies, the tv, the game
Yet, so am I guilty the same,
I admit
Great poets have stayed
In history writ
But what of today?
I can't name one poet now
Were I not a poet!
Would I even know how?