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Art

I might not be very good at this

But when you make art,

Does it hurt?

Does it scream

Not to make you work?

It might not make sense;

It might not flow,

It might resonate within you,

But you know,

IT SCREAMS IN ME,

It yells “MAKE ART”

IT TELLS!

It tells you who you are

It tells you where you’ve been.

It tells you all the wonders

Hidden within.

Messy font,

Hurried whims.

You don’t know how to begin

But HERE WE ARE!

Half way through

All these truths you wish you knew

All these dreams we outgrew.

Where are you now?

I guess, you never really knew.

But we’ll move on

To places we’ve never been

And we’ll love poems

We’ve never seen,

And all those years remembered; cried

Are all those fears we never knew were lies

All those moments

Lost and gone

All those hands

Never felt strong.

Hold them;

Feel them;

Remember the days ,

That meant everything.

But them.

Cause youll never know,

What’s come and gone,

Until we have all moved On,

To greater things,

Like Dusk and Dawn,

Like every life

Come and gone

To say goodbye

To things you’ve lost.

True love comes at a cost

That a heart May never understand,

But my heart

You hold in your hand

And, so believe, I’ll be here

In your heart

I’ll be very sorry

For being there

But I deserved

LOVE LIKE THIS.

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Talking to Myself

Inspiration Comes and Goes

Inspiration flows.

It’s there in the most inconvenient of moments.

When you’re driving your car in silence, down a green highway, a brilliant thought is there and gone with the whoosh of a passing car by the time you pull over and grab a notebook.

When you’re in the shower, in the middle of winter, and there’s just no way you’re getting out. Because it’s the first shower you’ve had in days. Because the bathroom floor is cold and wet. Because the depression got you and you gotta take care of yourself eventually.

When you’re in your doctors office, waiting for them to see you now. They’d think you really were crazy if they came into the room at the exact moment you were scribbling down the idea for a tragedy they’d never deem healthy.

When you’re watching the most beautiful thunder storm in your life, but you’re huddled under a porch, and you forgot your notebook.

When you’re sitting in your room late at night, with only lights on strings and furry things. When you know you should sleep.

Finally, a bit of inspiration. Might as well grab it.

Might as well be inspired by all the fleeting thoughts, even if you’ll never have them again. Might as well remember the feeling of having those thoughts every once in a while.

Inspiration comes from a lot of places. Sometimes, in the worst moments. Sometimes you just have to take them.

Reminder to me: write it down.

Even if it’s ridiculous. At least it’s something.

I remember all those years when the words flowed freely. When I wrote more than I spoke. Where did those days go?

Now I have to learn how to grab those moments again.

Learn to grab those moments again.

Inspiration is special. Creativity is important.

Don’t let the world around you stamp out your love to create. The passion inside you shouldn’t be put out.

This is me. Grabbing a tiny bit of inspiration.