The world doesn’t make
Sense. It’s not supposed to make
Sense. Things change. Time moves. It’s
Just the way it is. I guess I like to tell myself that
I’m fine with that, but I know I’m not. People drift
Off into different directions. They vanish into a world;
A twisting world of anonymity, where faces and names
Blend together. What scares me about this is that I don’t
Want to fall into this pit. Even in a place where the most
Exuberant become dull and listless with the weariness of
Reality, I would never blend into the wallpaper. I would
Always stick out. I am not just some face. I am not just
A figure of clay who can be crushed into rebirth. I am
Stoic and solid. I am the rock of my soul; the passion of
My spirit. I despise red ink, and I live in a world of naivety
And wariness. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even awake. Lost
Inside a dream. Barefoot, enamored, and hungry for words of
Life. Often, I find myself amidst a place too far from my home.
I’m small and young, but I crave freedom. I don’t know
Where I am, I don’t know where I’ve been, but I know
Where I want to be….who I want to be. I want to leave
My mark somewhere. I want the world to know that
              I was here. And so, I spend my time devoting myself to
My words.  I will utilize my hands,               my tools,
what I can to make my words                   alive and
Fighting on the page.                              An artist
Is more than                                        just a title;
We are the
Things that
Make life an
Interesting and
Mixed up place.
Artists are the stuff
Of dreams and poems,
Of mysteries and curiosities.
I am an artist. I always will be. I find
That in order to be, I must write and make
My art. And so, because I must, I shall. I will never stop
Or cease to create the things I love. I am here, and through my
Poems and my art, I always will be. My words are more than just words.