My Dearest Self

Sun, 07/19/2015 - 16:12 -- jsenft

I love the depths of my creativity - 

My abyss of imagination

That lives with the creatures in my head.


The way paintbrushes can be weapons

To all of the worry in the world

And the anxieties within myself.

How colors transform into ammunition and beauty,

Swiped across the canvas and my heart

Moving not only pigments,

but also the people around me.


Leaving the present behind,

My fingers on the keys of a flute,

Or a piano

The rhythm of my thoughts is soothed

Becoming as sweet as harmony,

Or as smooth as jazz

Generating songs like shooting stars -

My wishes are granted

As smiles emerge.


Expressing myself is my addiction,

My fuel, and my purpose

The best thing about me.

This poem is about: 


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