They think it silly-
the things we do.
They think us strange,
and we know it's true.
Us artists and writers,
dreamers and lovers,
each as unique as the story we tell,
each word and brushstroke chosen well.
Never perfect in our eyes-
the work I mean-
well no,
we aren't ever perfect in our eyes either.
We work from a place of pain
you see.
Maybe not ours,
but the pain of others.
That we have the unique gift
to tap into.
We may not be van Gogh
but our minds are tortured sky's.
We bleed as ink,
or paint,
or maybe clay,
or the melody that drifts through the air.
For some of us,
each step is as challenging
as the words we seek to write.
We live life as a rose-
beautiful to some,
while others only see the thorns.
We view life as a rose too-
Lovely and wonderful,
but also painful.
This
the
life
we
have
chosen.
