I want my art to be inspiring
So I sit frozen, yet perspiring
There is a pressure to express
to burst, to splash, to dance in paint
an urge, a burning I suppress
so the urge is growing ever faint
I want my art to be transcendent
But I freeze alone, and codependent
There is an ember searing hot
cracking, burning, catching fire
that never dies beneath the rot
of all the dreams I’ve let expire
I want my art to be an upward force
And a bunch of fame and money, of course
My soul is alight with a bright white heat
But the mental dragon turns it all to steam
So I binge-watch crap and over eat
And pinch myself for my silly dream
I want my art to be expression
But I find myself stuck in depression
I have to stop this round and round
So I force myself to sit and write
The flood gates open and I start to drown
But I can learn to swim, I’ll be alright.
A creative force bursts through my fingers
At last, now here’s hoping this surge lingers
Making art is like controlling fire
It burns, it’s smoky, with it’s own mind
If you’re lucky to live, you’ll never retire
From this calling you’ve been assigned
