The Art and The Observer

it's a poem i wrote to vent
I'm probably going through my depressed phase or whatever.

This poem describes life as 'art' and the person living the life as 'artist'. The 'observer' in this poem can be teacher, parents or whomever one would imagine.

(*Perspective from a child as they grow upto adolescents*)Life is a beautiful creation, it is a blank canvas and we are here to fill the canvas with the beautiful colours from our imagination. We can travel to space simply from a chair by using it as a rocket. We could build many sculptures that makes us feel proud of ourselves.

As we grow, our imaginations lead our life, that is upto when we try to understand things. The teachers strip away our beautiful imaginations, our interests and life to make us perfect for the future, not realising they are actually taking away our most important skills that makes us ourselves. (whether it may be painting, drawing, reading, watching, singing. basically our hobby that we're interested in.)

Btw this is just a vent poem to empty my heart out, maybe writing will put my mind at ease.