I stand awkwardly on stage

No one moves

I could hear a pin drop

My voice cracks

Pity stares

My hips don’t move

My feet move in steps too large

My face meets the wooden stage

And no one says a word.

I hold a brush

Ready to show my very soul

I imagine a majestic horse

Its sleek body powerful

And I look at my paper

I think I drew a dog

But I’m not even sure.

So I try to explain myself

My tongue doesn’t follow

I stammer for words that sound good.

I come up with nothing.

Awkward.

But when I write

Souls dance with mine

And a picture is painted in the imagination

And a voice reads the very words I feel

And the reader can feel these words too.

As I write

Others can see that

I am a dancer

I am an artist

I am a singer

Just in a different sense

Because when I write

I am an artist.