My heart beats to the rhythm of life.
Blood courses through my veins,
my brain rules my world
and energy moves me;
I feel alive.
The ground rushes up to greet me as I fall.
My feet find it with a grace not usually shown,
and I continue with my work.
I am painting a picture on the canvas of my imagination.
I am an artist. I am a dancer.
Trees of red and gold line my path.
The sky is as bright as my future,
the water, as wide-open as my heart.
My girls are there; transforming their pain into something beautiful.
Where does it all come from?
But then I know, for I am a seer. I am a believer.
Pouring out of me,
from somewhere hidden in the realms of my mind,
words find their way to the page.
Once in my head, now out for the world to see.
What a vulnerable art!
But that is how it is for a thinker; a writer.
Wishing I could read your mind like a novel,
I realize that I care about you.
How do you feel? What would you say?
Love is a mystery,
even when I want to read non-fiction.
Sometimes I wish it were as concrete as a textbook.
Its thoughts like these that make me a lover, a dreamer.
My heart pulses to the sound of my soul.
Emotion flows in my veins,
my heart rules my world, and impulses move my body.
I am an artist,
a dancer,
a seer and a believer;
a thinker,
a writer,
a lover and a dreamer.
I am living.