Silenced Thoughts

Fugitive Artist

Through everyone's eyes, there's only one picture, the picture I've painted of my life for them to get to "know me", for everyone to be able to conform their human needs of understanding and judgement. But behind the picture, the cold, textured blank canvas, waits meekly for someone's eagerness to repaint and tailor the image of gloom and anguish that's being exhibited. Supple brush strokes of love and care daunt me as the dried painting I've seen decay, slowly comes back to life.

What kind of artist does not confess their pure emotions that come from their slow pumping heart through their art, but instead makes a cover up for others to use as an imaginable character in this sociable existence? I am a fugitive artist of my own truth as I wish not to share with every individual who crosses my path what has brought me up to where I stand and to be who I am.

While some worry, others try to mend the futile, the glitches between the somber trees and the foggy air. Others are only able to appreciate the rocky mountains with keen edges, that constantly burst with the heavy weather that décor my art, that arouse my life. There is no balance in what comes to interact with my exposition, but I'm always startled with who visits. It challenges and sometimes deceives the conventional thought of not having a chance to get rid of the grime and abandonment that lays on top of my piece of art.

Whatever intentions there is of touching, damaging or taking my painting home, there's always the look of vicious eyes cloaked in a cycle of mysterious interest. It keeps my world spinning in an unchangeable state of seclusion with intermittent sparks of excitement.