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Description
Why can I not accept who it is I am.

To fight so much for so long.
Trying so hard to escape.

I keep getting in my own way.

The paranoia.
The pain.
Who am I anyway?

Trying so hard to figure out acceptance.
Could I not just let life happen?

I cannot change my past.
I cannot change my circumstance.

What does it mean?
To be an artist.
To be free.

Is all I do still an attempt to escape?

From thoughts to actions.

Paranoid? Paint.
Angry? Paint.
Sad? Paint.
Happy? Paint.
Can't sleep? Paint.

Is this what my soul is demanding?

So many expectations.
Needs. Demands.

Am I not doing enough?
Must I work more?

Putting myself in a place
seperate from my true nature?

Too sensitive to live in fantasy.
The drive towards reality.
My body reminds me.

What does it mean?
What must I do?
Why do I keep asking?
I know the truth.
I am not listening.

Paying too little attention.
In denial.

My soul holds the answers.
Here it speaks.
Yet I do not pay enough attention.

What do these colors mean?
They say something deeper than I think.

So clear, how could I have not seen?

In such striking features crying out in grief.

Thick and wild cutting strokes.

The tears.

Red of rage I cannot change.

In muted purple desperate to escape.
Soft.
And futile.

There is no escaping who I am.

I wonder what my first painting will be
when I reach acceptance.

Will it come?

I need to paint more.

Description
Why can I not accept who it is I am.

To fight so much for so long.
Trying so hard to escape.

I keep getting in my own way.

The paranoia.
The pain.
Who am I anyway?

Trying so hard to figure out acceptance.
Could I not just let life happen?

I cannot change my past.
I cannot change my circumstance.

What does it mean?
To be an artist.
To be free.

Is all I do still an attempt to escape?

From thoughts to actions.

Paranoid? Paint.
Angry? Paint.
Sad? Paint.
Happy? Paint.
Can't sleep? Paint.

Is this what my soul is demanding?

So many expectations.
Needs. Demands.

Am I not doing enough?
Must I work more?

Putting myself in a place
seperate from my true nature?

Too sensitive to live in fantasy.
The drive towards reality.
My body reminds me.

What does it mean?
What must I do?
Why do I keep asking?
I know the truth.
I am not listening.

Paying too little attention.
In denial.

My soul holds the answers.
Here it speaks.
Yet I do not pay enough attention.

What do these colors mean?
They say something deeper than I think.

So clear, how could I have not seen?

In such striking features crying out in grief.

Thick and wild cutting strokes.

The tears.

Red of rage I cannot change.

In muted purple desperate to escape.
Soft.
And futile.

There is no escaping who I am.

I wonder what my first painting will be
when I reach acceptance.

Will it come?

I need to paint more.