Thursday, June 7, 2012


I wasn't born with a pencil in my hand. I am not a natural. I spent a long time thinking my creative brain was a curse because no one told me art is a process. Someone told me once that I had the heart and soul of a poet. Ive been told I'm a storyteller. Art is suffering, some say. I have so much shit inside my head but getting it out seems impossible at times. Some days, it seems too easy. I'm a bright red spot on the beige backdrop of life yet no one can see me. I'm so bright, I'm invisible. I'm so invisible, I'm bright. Burning up the fuel until I hit the ground, nowhere to go but up.

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