"The baby needs it's greens," the mother says
as she forced feeds the screaming infant
that child hates it
but no one ever knows
because that child's voice has been replaced by muffled cries
and the mother's voice of reason

Meanwhile
brother is right upstairs snorting salt because his family never taught him the dangers of cooking
usually he just throws mushrooms on his steaks
without even checking to see if they've gone bad
you think in a family of experience chefs someone would have taught this boy how to cook properly

Mama and pops are always cooking, too teaching classes to all their friends
but not without a price
and pops burn sage in the living room
while mama starts to ***** that it makes the house smell bad
as if the smell of greens, salt, mushrooms, and all the other spices don't already fill the air
for the entire neighborhood to smell

Son, you can grow your own veggies in the garden
but your neighbors patch down the street has a better harvest
so put those greens in your paper bag
hop in your Lamborghini
and get the hell out of this house
just because your exterior is spotless doesn't mean the interior isn't slowly rotting away like you are
such a shame you lost the brain you never had

I am not an artist
I cannot paint a beautiful landscape that makes you believe you're looking at the real thing.
You will not stare in awe as you wonder what compelled me to paint those lines so uneven
And I can't make my color choices dance in your eyes like sugarplum fairies
Off of the canvas and into your mind
For you to transpose the choreography
To your own understanding

I am not an artist
I cannot capture a single moment in time with the simple click of a camera.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words but every shot I capture seems to be silent
Mute
But they're beginning to be heard
Screaming millions of words
Hoping someone will just hear one

I am not an artist
I cannot make your skin shiver as my lyrics echo through the room
Your emotions will not crescendo as each note burns nostalgia in your memory
And I will not leave you wanting to hear more

I am not an artist
And I can't create a masterpiece in two hours
I can't write words that will break your heart as they enter your ears and fill your soul with the emotions I'm feeling
I can't make you believe that I'm actually the character
I tried so hard to become at rehearsals for the last three months
My movements on the dance floor dont flow with ease or grace
And you will never give me a standing ovation
Or shower me with roses as you cheer for the art I've created.

But
With every step that I take on this earth
I am leaving brush strokes in the dirt and in your memory
Every laugh
every sob
every word that I speak
Is going through your ears for your own musical enjoyment
My eyes are like cameras capturing every moment and every face each time my lashes flutter
And even though most of we don't have photographic memories
We still remember the precious moments our personal cameras caught on film

I am not an artist
I am art