I really think sometimes
I was born to be an artist

This brain
This heart
These sleepless nights

But these hands
Tremble through every art piece
And spasm across strings
throat or instrument
And the words I write
I know, aren't as good as they feel getting out

But
I must remember
That's what art is
Art is your soul escaping you

Even if the end product, you can't stand to look at or listen to

Art is soul escaping from body

And if you

Or I in this matter

Can't appreciate that

Well, you thought you knew what art was

But you don't