I am an artist
Though I cannot paint
I cannot write a novel
I cannot act in a film
Yet I am an artist
My paintbrush is my razor
My story is told through my tears
My film is life and my smile is the main character
I am an artist
Whose painting is in cerise beads
Whose story is in each crystal stream
Whose persona hides a reality behind a perfected smile
I am an artist
An artist with a dark truth
A hidden story
And a made up happy ending
I am an artist
An artist that has ran out of space for my crimson creativity
An artist that has cried my last story
An artist that has pretended for the last day
I am an artist
An artist who has done my time
And has been beaten by sadness
I am an artist
An artist who’s art is not appreciated
An artist who never reach the height of worlds noticeability
An artist whose art will die as I do
I was an artist
Until my art took over me
And now – I exist not
2 comments
An artist indeed. Of course you exist, just look at what you wrote. Only a scared, but living soul, could grave out it’s heart like this. Your razor is your paintbrush, then show people your work. Show them your world, in lighten them to the course of your tears and pain. Pain can be beautiful, but not if you’re in it alone. Let the truth come out, and trust me, your next ‘painting’ won’t hurt as much.
I agree with mirror. Also, yes you’re an artist but you’re also a beautiful human being aside from that. You have an amazing thinking capacity and you actually do what few people even have the ability to: you reflect on who you are.