My mind runs through a maze,
But the exit contains
neither freedom nor
escape.
Rising to new confusion.
Falling into delusion.
What else could come
of solving this riddle?

My exit is awaiting,
but I don’t want to move.
I curse the dawn.
Forcing me to choose
a path.

Let time stand still.
Left or right?
Up or down?
The clock has no power here.

For now I sit,
content, inside the walls
neither rising or falling.
This maze need not be solved
today.

I knew what he was saying as he said it,
because his words painted the walls
of my ears.
When he painted my drums
Bob Marley’s voice became my
world.
And in that moment,
the moment of friction,
my world was at peace.

Dazed yet frantic.
My utensil scratched
and shaded and
molded.

The outside world
dead
to my ears and eyes.

Only the white and lead
colored my mind.

When finally the lead ceased
to run along the page
he said,
“What are you writing?”

Writing?
“I thought I was drawing shapes?”

I left so long ago that home
is no longer the hill country of my youth,
or the house on Misty Glen.
The flint covered plains hardened
my heart some time ago,
and the North Eastern shores are too cold
to keep it warm.

If I tried to call a place home
I wouldn’t know what to say.
No house or city or state
could call me back to stay.
Home is where the heart is,
but where does mine truly lay?

“You can be happy in your own sadness.”
She tried to explain this concept to me.
“Every morning I wake up sad, for everyday
we are changing. It is a bittersweet feeling.
With the rising sun comes a new you.
We leave our pasts for a new future.
It is kind of scary. It takes a lot
to accept the day.”
It wasn’t until she spoke these words
that I understood this beauty.

“Your words are my guitar.
They play the sweetest sounds
into my soul,” was my only response.
And in that moment
my world had changed.

I am an artist
i paint brilliant pictures for you to see.
i sketch out curves and shade
the world as i see it.
i do this to please and entertain.
you. me. anyone who is willing to
take a step into my mind

I am a life drawing artist.
Through techniques of rendering and
cross hatching, i authenticate the
skin of beauty mind and soul.
my **** canvas in front of me sits perfectly
still, yet is always moving.
it blinks and slowly breathes with each passing minute.

I am a 3D sculpter.
No 2D for me.
i want what is there for me to touch.
i want to grab it. turn it. inspect
every angle and then proceed with
my decision.

I am an abstract artist.
i see things differently.
I dont want to follow the norm.
no conformity for the strong and independent.
i will choose my color, my stroke, my paper, my pen.
i will choose my own pathway.

I am an artist.
i do not use a brush.
i dont like pastel, or paint, or charcoal.
my medium is my voice.
i use my words to describe the bitter sting
of love, life, and wonder.

I can paint any picture in your mind.
I can shade any thought into your head.
I can sketch any emotion so vividly into your heart,
that it will melt into the sweetest pool
of crimson.

I am an artist,
through my words, description, and mind.
i need no colors or paint
only my pen and paper.
i need no history of Van Gogh
only my imagination and creativity.
I need only what makes sense to me.

Through my writing,
I am an artist.

Let’s do something illegal.
Close your eyes and make
believe we are 15.
Bills and rent. The law.
What is all that anyway?
Can we get so lost
on the beaten path
that there is nothing left
to do but find ourselves?

Let’s sneak into the stadium
with our shwag and make shift
pipe in hand. Then
make love
like we even know
what that means.

Baby make me feel
young and reckless.
Teach me how to be
punk rock, and
flip the bird to
our oppressors.

Remember when
the whole world was against us
and didn’t pretend to be with us?
Remember when
we used to know everything?
Remember when
we were young and reckless,
and had a love that only
the innocent can posses?
Remember when
we were 15?

Baby, let’s do something illegal.