People say, change the world with your art.
But what if the art I have inside me is tainted, the same as I am?
What if all I have to offer is twisted and soaked in pain?
What if the lessons I have to learn through my art is laced with bloody barbed wire, twirling through the small glimmers of such agonizing beauty that it drips into porcelain until even the sun cannot bear to gaze upon it?
I don’t have time to sabotage anything else
But that isn’t true, is it?
I don’t have the heart to camouflage anymore pain.
But I’ll do it
I don’t have any way
How do I deal truthfully
When all you see is the light?
What happens when you
Find something else?
Waiting for someone who sees
But I won’t tell you that
Ah, that is the conundrum, is it not? The ache, the need to scream, to let it all out. To be free, fully come alive. To deny parts of me, well.
That’s not going to bring life to anything, now is it?
By Daphne Shadows