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Megan May 2018
I'm in class
doodling-
instead of paying attention-
doodling instead of listening.

I'm just hearing
the mumbling
of the professor...
professor-ing.

he's talk talk talking about...
something.
Doing something
because of something.

But I’m just doodling.
Again not listening.
Again not hearing
Such important details

Of something
Happening somewhere
Because of...
Something

Something bad is happening
Again
Sounds like something that’s happened
Before

I continue to doodle
adding tornados to the scribbles.
Causing mayhem between
Simple blue lines on bleached paper

Just like somewhere
Where something happened
Because of...
Something

Concentrate-
Harder like the pressure of the pen
I doodle with
It’s too late

Lecture over.
Don’t get me wrong though I love class and learning! It’s just sometimes it’s like people never listens in class or take their own initiative to learn something and that frazzled me up a little lol
strtyma May 2018
She drew people all the time, but if she’s asked to draw herself, she’d leave the page blank.
I wrote this last winter when I was angry...
Heart of Silver Apr 2018
I've got a crayon in my hand,
a color for every lost syllable
There's a brightly scribbled drawing
to make my mouth and head reconcilable
laila shaaban Apr 2018
I am an artist.
I never chose to be but as long as I can remember art was near,
There was no first meeting, no awkward first impression.
It was always right there.
Art is a part of me, a quality written in my biology it’s my personality.
I can’t escape the urge to create,
To illustrate the beautiful picture in my mind,
To encapsulate feelings, project ideas, perfect a masterpiece.
I am an artist I paint;
I paint in hues colors and strokes.
I paint in words sewn together as delicate as a feather,
Yet as painful as a healing wound.
I cower every time I hear them being read aloud
Because these words are windows straight into my thoughts.
Leaving me feeling vulnerable, that’s why some art is unutterable.
Best portrayed using a paintbrush.
Coating the canvas with every color of the spectrum and every spectrum of emotion. Watching the pigments flow with no resistance,
A brush sweeping softly or with deep solid strokes
Always flawless because creativity can never be mistaken
It only awakens new perspectives perfected by the artist
Portraying her ideas precisely.
I am an artist because losing my self in art is my passion,
A distraction, imagine the endless horizons.
Art is the closest thing to magic,
A paintbrush the closest to a wand,
And an artist the closest to becoming an enchanter.
sunflower Mar 2018
I found love with every step I take,
into all these whimsical forests I went.

I found love within each beat,
I heard dancing in my favorite music.

I found love with every cup,
of coffee my mouth sipped.

I found love in paint and brush,
painting sky of beautiful sunsets.

I found love in inked pens,
writing down words I couldn't tell.

I found love in me,
and I will hold onto that.
For when I found love in me.

ㅡ n.s
Graff1980 Mar 2018
As an artist
I forgot
how to
draw the
feminine
form,
but
I used
the women
at the gym
to inform
and refresh
my amateur
artistry.
A A Mar 2018
An old lion sits on the balcony writing a letter to his lover describing the moment he first saw her; he uses the moon as his lamplight as he murmurs the next line.
"I thought: you are the best drawing I've ever seen..
The most captivating painting,
Most sensual of all the sculptures."
Liberty J Feb 2018
My eyes flickered to the left, but swiftly returned back to the blank page. Crickets droned on outside, urging me to do something.

Anything.

“Write of great princes and stunningly beautiful maidens" they chirped.

“No," I rejected the thought immediately, "That's much to chilchè"

“Well, why not draw a romantic sunset, covered in a blanket of pink clouds?" they suggested.

“No," I said once more, “ A romantic sunset deserves color, and I have none to give."

“Perhaps scribble down a poem about stars, and all they do?"

“Stars?" I asked, “All stars do, is fall. It seems my efforts are hopeless, friends." I pushed the paper aside.

“Now, now," Squeaked the crickets, “We mustn't lose hope. How about a sketching a crying child in the rain?"

“No, that won't do," I whispered to them “Now please, keep it down."

“Oh, yes." said the crickets “But wait here, we will be back."

“Where are you going?" I asked, but with no response. The crickets had hopped away.

---

“Hello Claire.” A mouse greeted me.

“Oh, hello mouse. I’m glad you have visited, but why have you come?” I pet between her ears.

“The crickets sent me to help.” She stated.

“The crickets?” I asked, “But this was supposed to be secret…” I said under my breath.

“Yes, yes.” The mouse rolled her eyes and smiled at me, “This will remain unknown, trust me.”

“Thank you mouse.” I turned back to the paper, “What do you suggest?”

“Hmm…” The mouse paused for a moment of thought. “Draw a world so small, it fits on a page.”

“No,” I repeated, “That's much to distant.”

“Very well.” The mouse squeaked, “Why not write a story about true love?”

“No,” I recited “A story like that deserve love, and I have not to give.”

“Alright, alright.” said the mouse, annoyed, “Oh, how about a poem about hope?”

I sighed. “All hopes do, is die. This effort is worthless mouse.”

“Come now, don’t give in.” The mouse encouraged, “Um… Maybe a tall tale? About a silly girl with pigtails?”

“No, that won’t do,” I whispered, “Now please, quiet down!”

“Stop being paranoid,” said the mouse, “now stay here, I’ll be back.”

“No mouse!” I called out, “Where are you going?” I turned to reach for her, but she was gone.

---

“Hello Claire.” A crow perched mightily on my windowsill.

“Oh, well hello doctor.” I greeted him politely. “What brings you here this evening?”

“The mouse sent me.” The crow cawed.

“Mouse?” I whispered to myself, wondering how long this had to go on.

“Now then, I like to keep things short, so let's get to work.” the crow said with soulless eyes.

“A-alright then sir.” I whimpered, with a sense of pity. “What do you suggest?”

“Write a story about far off lands with world peace.” He droned.

“No, that's much to unrealistic.”

“Very well,” He adjusted his foot balance. “Draw a series of spectacular places.”

I shook my head, “But doctor, that deserves accuracy, and I have none to give.”
“Hmph” The crow grumbled, “Write a poem about birds, and how we are so free.” He boasted.

“All birds do, is fly.” I said, looking  hopelessly at my blank paper.

“Than perhaps write about how foolish you are.” He spat, and flew away.

“No, Doctor!” I stood and leaned out the window, “But I need help!” I cried, but he had flown too far to hear me.

---

“How are you Claire?” A cat creeped in the room.

“Oh, hello cat.” I sat back down at my desk. “I’m doing well, other than my very blank paper.” I sighed.

“How unfortunate.” The cat stretched out across the floor. “Would you like my help?”

“Oh yes, if you don’t mind.” I steadied myself in my chair.

“Alright.” The cat said, “Have you tried seeing something inspiring?”

“Something inspiring?” I shook my head, “I don’t know anything that would look inspiring.”

“Well.” Cat began to lick his tail, “ Have you tried listening to something beautiful?”

“Something beautiful?” I asked, “I don’t know anything that would sound beautiful.”

“Alright” The cat looked confused, “Um, what about smelling something good?”

“Something good?” I looked down, “I don’t know anything that would smell good.”

“Strange.” The cat stood, “Then why not leave the paper blank?” The cat said, leaving the room.

“Nothing at all?” I looked to the cat, but he was gone. “That’s not a bad idea…” I said, leaving the room.
sunflower Feb 2018
I just want to be able to live.

To wake up to the sun,
shined in between my windows.

To feel the wind touching my,
easily scarred skin.

To stand in between,
all these tall trees.

To stare at the sunset,
and how the sky's blue fades.

To watch the stars come out,
along with the moon by their side.

And to thought of how lucky I am,
to exist and witness.

God's ethereal painting,
and remarkable piece of art.

I am so lucky to be a human.
I am so lucky to be drawn on His beautiful canvas.
For when I thought I was lucky to exist. [ Nature is the only reason why I found this world a beautiful place. ] Well, this is just a very cliché poem about how much of a nature lover I am.

ㅡn.s
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