I have an artist’s heart and I regret it
I know I’m better off than those who shred it
when all they seek to worship’s lucrativity
yet trapped in cages of their own passivity.

All I want is deep dives to the hearts
of mine and others. Chugging in the back
in sickness and health, those relentless parts
will carry on, always craving attack.

Why couldn’t you have given me more skill?
A teaspoon’s all I think I’d have required.
I’m told I have more than wholly desired
in other fields, still left unfulfilled.

I know I’m better off than those who shred it.
Why does it feel so difficult to get it?