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The steady hum ,
the consistent stitching.
What seems to have been a million parts is now
One.
It slips over a form,
curves and drapes and ruches.
From sketch to sculpture,
garments become art.
I used to wake up hoping to play this great game one day.
Now I wake up dying to make it each day.
Oh if things had gone my way to the tee,
I probably have been all smiles, more happy.
Ink to paper
Thoughts turned to immortal words.
I am a Creative Writer.
Starving Artist.
Lazy.
No future.
Voices turn down a permanent passion.
What’s it called when you work hours on end?
Yet every minute seems worth wild
I think it’s the same thing that makes me smile
That phrase “If you love what you’re doing then you’ll never work a day in your life”
A man stumbles in
bleeding and burned.
Unknown to I
he has 3 children
one on the way
a wife
a family
and yet he risks his life
for another family
up in flames.
All my life I have been wandering
I have been wondering
I have been searching.
I wondered what in the world
I would end up being
When I finally grew up.
And then I decided.
Never seen, never known
Hidden behind a pair of googles
And the buttons of a lab coat.
With the snap of a glove
I am ready to make something
That I am truly proud of.
