one thing that pains me is
when i was younger, brighter, and less full of myself
was when she used to radiate light and everything pure in this world
as her concentrated face would approach the paper
with glee and her eyes would shine and glisten
and sunlight would drip from them,
creating something absolutely beautiful,
and all she needed to make that happen was a pen,
and she would always ask me,
the smallest act would create the biggest fire.
what i do not understand,
is the way people like her, artists, essentially,
are treated the way they are, as though it's not a job,
as though they will not earn much,
as though art as a subject is not obligatory yet every other is.
at least, that's what i felt when she spoke to me with such distaste about it,
eyes dripping with sadness because imagine being told that your passion
is just. a. hobby.
why is that when happiness blooms in her, it must be crushed under dirty boots of the fallen?
why is that her passion is not enough? is creating other worlds not enough?
is having the ability to express yourself with colors not enough?
- just a hobby
YOU ARE READING
growing wings | Completed
Poetry❝my freedom was at the cost of my sanity❞ how far would you go to earn your freedom, if it meant stripping away your happiness and losing your mind. freedom does not mean liberat...
