In Search of Artistry

In search of true artistry is all I have ever gone towards.  Through sickness and pain, I have fought to become an artist.  I’m not sure if that golden day will come while I live on this earth, but I strive toward that end.  A failed person at many things, I have seen the darkest of what life is.  A dancer with feet too crooked to fit into point shoes.  An actress with barely enough stamina to make a go of a Hollywood career.  A model with no one to vote her in.  Turned away in persecution.  Defamed.  Spit on.  Robbed of a magazine cover spread.  Battles with weight issues.  Bottles of medications gracing my vanity.  There is nothing to lean on, a sorrow to behold, for exhaustion takes its toll once more in the passing days.  I have seen what great loss entails.  A soiled mind, inflamed limbs, heavy heart bundled in barbed wire squeezing out the last drops of blood.  Something makes me write.  A voice makes me the scribe of my innermost thoughts.  Another part of me loves to sing and play violin.  The music of Jim Morrison, a poet, rockstar, and visionary I connect to.  Between the worlds.  Light and dark, good and evil.  I’ve found myself thirsty for spiritual knowledge.  It is also the writings of John Keats that calls me toward the poet’s way of existence.  A fellowship with those who have suffered for their art.  This is the creative spirit I embody.  The music of fingers, psalms of eyes to paper, the dripping pen…

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