Just because,
I study painting, drawing, and sculpture,
does not mean I can’t write.
English is my first language, after all.
One day, I wish to speak music.

One can never know too many different ways to express themselves.

Why am I an artist?

I am so alone,
in body and soul,
in thought,
and in love.

I have a deep need to communicate my ideas and feelings.
Thus, I seek forms of expression.

Really, I am a student of the manifestation of thought.

It is an uncontrollable urge that compels me.
It is divine instruction. A duty. A charge.

Yet,
I am a Slave.

Though,
I wish to be the Emperor.

Thus,
I create my own Empires.

Each one in which, within I am God.

People don’t understand a damned thing these days.
Everyone is so wound up in fabricated bullshit.

It took me to reach the lowest point of their dungeon,
to find my freedom.

Even my fellow students are blind. Most people are.

That is why I am glad that I can see, and I can see far.
I am Fortunate.

Oh, to be born
with a piercing gaze
that sees infinitely far.
Sometimes a blessing. Sometimes a curse.
A gaze that sees
hearts and souls
and
cuts through lies
and
finds the truth
in anything.

A capacity for examination far more than observed by many. Some call it the third eye. The all-seeing. As Alan Watts would say,
social intelligence.

Why do I have this burden?
It is tiring.

Not only do they
gift me sight
but they
curse me with
endless preminition.
Thoughts and visions
of futures
always changing.
Delightful and
terrible things,
seldom realized.
Dreams
that bring
sudden realization.

In my sleep,
uncontrollably,
astroplaning.
Doomed to
randomly explore
any given time
or plane
for any amount of time.
It grows me weary.

Cartomancy,
passed by my Matrons.
Cards that tell fortunes,
and lies,
and reveal truths.
Often,
I abuse them to
pry into others’ secrets.

Hallucinations run rampant
in my eyes
throughout waking.
I fear that is due to my
many experiments
with rogue powders
and potions.

Am I sick and twisted?
The Catholics would have me at the pyre.