Sylvia and Vincent
Won't you come visit
me in the night
He'll paint and she'll write
Tulips and sunflowers
I am counting down the hours
Till I meet you
But you are hard to get to.
She put her head in the oven,
he put his in his hands
but you're not so different,
Sylvia and Vincent.
Her pen races, his brushstroke
how did they know
what to say, what to paint
Did it come from their pain?
And you may never see the reward,
the effect on the world
of your gripping emotion
and how it made time frozen
But this comparison is nonsense
only two creatives plagued by madness
and so, like them, I hope for acceptance
from a world that barely notices.
i wrote this about sylvia plath and vincent van gogh, two of my favorite people ever. both struggled creatively, and emotionally/mentally, and i do as well. there will never be anyone like them. but this is for all you "crazy" artists and writers out there... all of you who want to create but your mind keeps telling you you are terrible, your work will never be worth anything.... keep fighting. keep writing and painting and singing. you are amazing.
