I was told to write a poem

About a mentor

A teacher

In my life

So I thought

Food

Art

Or a major part of my physical being 

My sickness 

But I don’t like to dwell on that

I paint

I cook

I get sick easily

I draw

I critique food

I grew up in a hospital

But I am not my illness

It does not define me

It adds flavor

Color

To who I am 

And taught me 

That pain

Is a great artist 

Under whom 

I studied

All my life

Whose teachings

I have taken

And learned from

And made my own

And whose lessons

I garnish 

On my work