It was 3 pm on a Saturday,
Wondering,
And thinking what id do today,
As I carried a clipped pad with empty pages.
Kicking stones off the side walk,
I saw two young girls,
Carrying a huge bag full of books,
Along with their childhood innocence.
As I eavesdrop
Only to hear
"Hey look at what I did today,
The teacher made us paint and play with clay"
With competition in her eyes
The other girl crooned
"Hey look at what 'I' did today,
This is a painting,
that I had made,
This is the best in class,
is what my teacher said "
-
Their uniform and
their braided hair,
Made it sound so silly,
And cute,
As they walked passed me
I saw their innocence,
freshly stained with rivalry.
It was 3 pm on a Saturday,
Hopeless and in conflict with myself,
With few days into pondering
If this , what I do is art, or not
My soul,
Completely stained
With rivalry. Sometimes with myself.
Jan 4, 2025
Jan 4, 2025 at 1:29 AM UTC
It was 3 pm on a Saturday,
Wondering,
And thinking what id do today,
As I carried a clipped pad with empty pages.
Kicking stones off the side walk,
I saw two young girls,
Carrying a huge bag full of books,
Along with their childhood innocence.
As I eavesdrop
Only to hear
"Hey look at what I did today,
The teacher made us paint and play with clay"
With competition in her eyes
The other girl crooned
"Hey look at what 'I' did today,
This is a painting,
that I had made,
This is the best in class,
is what my teacher said "
-
Their uniform and
their braided hair,
Made it sound so silly,
And cute,
As they walked passed me
I saw their innocence,
freshly stained with rivalry.
It was 3 pm on a Saturday,
Hopeless and in conflict with myself,
With few days into pondering
If this , what I do is art, or not
My soul,
Completely stained
With rivalry. Sometimes with myself.
To be art or not to be art.
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