#lifeisart
Art is living,
art is healing,
art is thinking.
Art is showing our essence,
in every stage of life,
in our own unique way.
Art is expression,
of the inner self,
of the emotional realm.
Art is emotions,
it is feelings,
something profound,
something free of mediocrity.
Art is loving,
kissing,
and caring.
Art is fighting through life,
facing the bad,
embracing the good,
and cherishing it all.
Art is your parents,
who cared for you
and gave you unconditional love.
Art is music,
those two notes
that make your heart burn with passion.
Art is walking through life,
grateful,
smiling,
without greed.
What is your art?
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 3:30 AM UTC
Let me destroy you,
I promise it will be fun,
just for a minute.
And for the record,
I don’t want to be the fifth,
in your weird ****
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 10:50 AM UTC
21st,
fresh,
young,
impressionable.
Idly watching the growing days,
while your nights get shorter and empty,
longing for the return of that tiny
ray of sunshine,
to gently graze your cheek,
beaming more each day.
The moon waits in silence,
right behind,
with tidbits of time on a ticking lip,
two hands on it’s face,
squabbling over who reaches twelve first.
Midnight,
and the sun sleeps earlier,
with every passing second,
longing for resolution,
with the moon right behind,
only off by an hour,
twisting, manipulating,
the tide;
tongue.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 12:18 AM UTC
Tell me a story,
tell me everything about your days,
the ones that had you laughing into the
never ending, hazy sunsets,
the nights that tore your soul to pieces,
only to leave you void and alone in the
decaying moonlight.
Tell me, please. I would love to just know,
every single idiosyncrasy that
defined your being.
Whisper it shyly if you must,
into the fridgid Winter air that
bites briskly at my cheeks,
in the hollowness that reverberates off
of this desolate city’s streets,
while everyone tucks in early.
Speak slowly, please,
through the melting ice, dripping
onto the pavement while you
help awaken Spring.
Sing a simple song through the
birds rediscovering life,
mutter a word in the commotion
of a typical weekday commute,
plant the seeds of memories,
to bloom in Summer heat
and unnoticeably appear to me.
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
If I saw you,
you’d be gone just as quickly as you had appeared.
In the blink of an eye,
as if you were a ghost,
teetering on the realm of physical,
breezing by with your presence,
only for it to be felt for a moment,
if that.
Enough time for it to barely register,
and safely return to a state of uncertainty.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 9:58 PM UTC
crash.
burn.
rise;
from the cigarette ash spilled on the bed.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC
See the problem is we always think we have time,
so before the sun descends and the moon arrives
I tell you I love you before I shut my eyes at night.
Oh darling, heaven only knows how much breath we have left inside.
No matter where it is we stand, this I'll always say...
before I run out of time, before it's too late.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC