Trial and error,

Pain and Pressure,

Equals the beauty of essence,

without these things , 

dreams unseen could never be.

There is a qualm in my spirit .

A fight in  my mind, 

am I wasting time? 

Or Is life not so serious ? 

Being here is magical , 

creating is the absolute function of humanity

yet, questions of doubt rush out 

like a ocean freed from a barrier.

There is a knock on my mental door

with reminders of fear, failure, and distrust

that this process of learning

growing, dying and getting back up 

just won't be enough. 

That the system to succeed is crippled 

and 911 only answers to certain emergencies,

that mine is not as important on society's scale

of 1 to 10

So my hopes of being a working artist should just end. 

Purpose calls out ; but the soud is so faint, 

so I dive into religion, spirituals, love, sex, and paint. 

Trying to figure out how my love of art brings so much damn pain, 

too few gains; but doing anything else is simply insane. 


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