Art is a way of expressing one self.
It is my way to speak for myself.
It is a way into the dreams I can’t remember,
To see through all the fog that clogs my head.
It is my kryptonite but also my sanctuary.
It is my love, it is my pain.
It is my singing voice that screams louder then the stars
vary.
It is my colossal fall from the heavens.
It is a novel written and only read by those who see with
there brilliant soul.
It is my tear streaked face with your pencil falling down.
Art is the my body moving to the flavor of sunlight,
Swaying to music only some can hear.
Shown in different strokes and colors, steps and tones,
Shapes and sizes but always in the same tiny house inside
our head.
Whether it is simply empty or spilling from its windows it
is always changing,
With it’s special mood and diverse emotions.
It is not a skill you learn but will always be the way your
heart will whisper to you.
When your eyes are
closed and the shooting star out side your window
Are singing to the night circus below, how tomorrow will be
a better day.
And for the first time, up here in my comfy cloud,
I believe art isn’t something you can hold
It is me and I am art.
