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Another daydream comes to me of our future life
We are in a house together and you are my wife
In your special room you are finishing a painting
I come, very silent, to watch the beauty in the making
But you turn around because you can feel my presence
You smile at me and laugh, and I admire your essence!
You come a little closer, give me a wondering look
I know you see perfectly, I can read you like a book
You want to know what I think about your piece of art
I smile and tell you the truth about how it touched my heart
You release a breath you didn't know you were holding
You kiss me on my lips, distance is slowly closing
And I take you in my arms and grab you by your waist
You are so **** gorgeous that I can't have just a taste
And as we stand there in the room, you in my embrace
I can see there's a bit of paint somewhere on your face
I take my ******* and clear the little spot
And I start to wonder how the room got so hot
And then I see us lying, cuddled on the ground
Sun seems to be dawning, we don't make a sound
Caressing your hair, feeling your heart beating
Oh gods, how much I wish, I wasn't just daydreaming
Lilac Apr 19
The brush knew
His gentle strokes filled with love
Tired strokes of his trembling fingers
And his rough strokes too
His eyes were filled with stars
Even though everyone gave him scars
But that day
When he sunk in loneliness
Hands of that broken man
Just couldn't move
stillhuman Apr 14
Powerless

I finally get up, i leave you behind
Now i'm free

Senseless

I cry of joy as mom holds me in her arms
Now i feel

Empty

I paint 'til i can't feel my hands anymore and my cheeks hurt
a sweet ache caused by my smile
Now i create

Ugly

I look in the mirror
I don't see a stranger
Now i am

But not really
I'm not
Not now
Practice makes progress, i guess
Ruchira Apr 12
The most compassionate art was
once created by a selfish artist ...
stillhuman Apr 10
An artist in name fact and form
I keep on creating a reality that's torn
from the Truth and its Lies
that forced me still to stay blind
with no passion nor time
to mind the withering eyes
in my portraits
But artist I stay
even when my brushes lay
on a white cold place
and my muse has died
through the shapes that she tried
to take on and survive
so she walked out the door
and the colours are no more
with my hands painting still
the lonely emptiness of my core
Payne Yance Mar 31
The first thing I see
when I pull out the top drawer
was the diagnosis. Meds, there you go

it pretty much said that.
I wondered about all the
creative people doing
some remarkable things,
creating and being alive.

Except they all one day
killed themselves.
Van Gogh stood in
the overgrown field before
he shot himself.
Sylvia Plath knelt down
and stuck her head in the oven.
Virginia Woolf grazed the smooth
peebles, thinking about what
she would write about those peebles,
Only to shove them in
her pockets and drown in the Ouse river.

Nearly everyday, I tell myself
I want to be a writer, or an artist-
Both, actually. That’s all I ever
wanted to be, but the fear of
spiraling, and becoming them
Is deeply disturbing.

Yet, I craved for this life,
To paint, and create stories
with a dash of madness
They all did likewise.
Melody Mann Mar 26
Tightly stretched across the frame I am cut from unbleached cloth,
The coarse craftmanship of my canvas awaits an artist's touch,
Outline the path to discovery and redemption on my surface,
Paint me with the colors of hope and prosperity as you guide my creation,
Let the pigments dance across my existence as I glisten and gleam,
I am a sight to behold,
A testament to the contributions of all before me,
Unified together through this masterpiece I now carry their legacy.
Inspired by Mary Oliver
selina Mar 22
a lover by day
and an artist by night
the epitome of perfection

let me paint you like you are
the heavenly piece of art you are
let the world see you through my eyes

the likes of an angel of love
sculpted by michelangelo
blessed by venus herself

brushstrokes simply cannot do you justice
50mm lens still cannot show the world the truth
cold clay cannot compare to eucalyptus eyes

forget these superficial takes
let's make art, my love
let's make love
stillhuman Mar 21
When I feel lost in this world
full of potential
and twists and turns
When I feel I have no place
in structured conversations
and I barely recognize my face
When I have no friends nor foes
or at least I can't see them anymore
my aunt, my cousin, my dad propose
that art is always open
that poetry will always listen
and my history is my token
I am the culmination
of my family's art
So I will work
and tear myself apart
with verses and rhymes
and paintings and designs
'Cause our history has no end
so long as on my shoulders it dipends
Happy International Poetry Day!
This is to remind myself of my family's history with art. My dad writes poetry and used to paint, my aunt created beautiful art and my cousin is a pretty well-known painter. It truly runs in my family and I'm the last artist so far. I hope to make good use of their wisdom and love
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