Does it sound selfish?

Yes.

I asked myself,

what drives you forward,

what gave you momentum?

And after all,

it was me.

 

I am my own martyr,

I am all the sleepless voices,

I am the momentum that drives me forward.

My voice,

this voice,

inspired the painter

to paint with blue and violet,

to dash the gold,

and paint the sky.

My hands,

these hands, 

held the sky

all those nights it fell,

held the dripping fresh paint,

held it high

until it stayed right there.

 

And it was my eyes

that saw the world bleed,

and it was my gut

that fought the instinct to flee,

and it was my breath

that stopped it there.

 

In my breath,

I held the power,

in this breath.