CHASING ( BLUES )

ART

The art which is admired by the most won't be admired the way artist wanted it to be.

There are so many things I am scared of, but the one that makes my skin pricked with needles, the one which makes me dig a hole and hide in there for forever. The fear which stuck with me where ever I go, almost like the second skin crawling over me is the feeling.

The feeling that what if my words were never perceived in the way I want it to be.

That no one would ever understand the depth of ideologies I put in my every sentence and it will remained to be seen as shallow as people's laughter by the reader.

What if my art remain forever forgotten?

I wish if someone read what I write then it should stuck with them. If not for forever then even for a minute. I don't want to read and forget about the next second without the second thoughts.

I wished my words echoed in someone's head as they struggles to get it out. I want someone to curse at me, hate me and I want them to think why.

I wish my thoughts haunt someone as they haunt me.

And I don't want anyone to tell me that I write hauntingly beautiful or I don't want to listen those pretty sugar-coated words instead I wish to hear the criticism and I want them to blame, want them spit those vulnerable vocabularies of language.

BUT,

Do I even write the way I wish?

Can I even tell the stories of my blues?

Does my words even carry the essence of my unsettling thoughts?

Does my words are even worthy enough to give a second thoughts?

Are they beautiful enough? Enough cunning to make someone stare the walls with no thoughts.

What if my art was remained to forever forgotten?

The fear is in me has stuck but good for me, I have so many other things I am scared of.