I make something I can't describe, my mind doesn't allow me to.

Dark yet bold and bright.

It doesn't take long to look at it.

I don't care if anyone understands it.

It's mine!

My color and shapes,

size and medium is for me,

not to please anyone.

I use paint and a brush, a pencil to draw and anything else to make it pop!

I make art for me.

To calm,

relax,

for fun,

I can't go without it,

but im not allowed to structure it.

My mind and heart doesn't allow me to.

I don't care if anyone cares about it.

all I want is to express me.

Help myself understand who I am.

If it didn't exist no one,

even I,

would know who I really am.

All it does is keep people aware of someone with different morals.

It's abstract in a way that it should look like something, but it doesnt.

I sacrifice real work,

real shapes,

what someone would look like.

It lives in my room,

in my heart,

in my possession.

If I let it out of my sight I let myself go.

My art sounds and looks like chaos.

Some last forever.

They are literally parts of me thrown on canvas,

like a multiple disorders case,

in plane sight,

its crazy,

ugly,

and a little messed up,

but it grows on you.

Something always seems off or weird or wrong about it,

nothing seems totally happy or perfect,

actually far from it.

If I try too hard, it loses any attempt at being good.

But it's what I care about,

My Art!