I always thought art had to be hard.
There had to be some deep inner struggle, some magical spiritual resonance
That gave art meaning

I thought love was about pomp and circumstance
That it had to be verbose, brash
I pined and flirted and thought I knew love
I knew nothing

I haven't changed much
I am a different shape but the same shade
I've found art in puddles, and love in myself
But I'm still learning
I'm sure I'll still write poetry
That's pompous and shallow
But now I'll know a little but more
About the pieces of myself

And maybe one day I'll figure out who I will be.