Do you ever feel like your art is a person?
Every time I write a piece, I’m painting a self portrait. In the present tense or even as the third person. On the outside looking in — the pain your emerged in.
Hearing a song you never wrote like the artist is someone you grew up with. The happiness you told all your secrets to, but the sadness is holding you hostage.
I always wonder why people try to bargain with death. Its wins eventually, until there’s no one left. Selling dreams of living in clouds, Eternal luxury with no evidence; living for a better tomorrow. That promise isn’t kept.
I live like today is my last, often that’s why it seems I only care about my self.
Who am I kidding?!
I care for everyone else. My heart is a clinic, get in if you fit in, no matter the health. Sympathies nursing sorrows. Empathy injecting psychedelic morrows. Where do I go when I need love? I pull out a cool J and fill my chest like I’m getting lung transplants tomorrow.
When I’m chasing my breath, the loneliness is easier to swallow. Why does everyone want to be understood? Judgment is the mass a murderer. How could you even point your finger at my chest when you’ve never felt my soles?
Non-believers. For whom I hope on Christmas all get coal. I pack pens like heat, cause this world gets cold. Equipped qith a paper machete. Just because you scream “F– The World!” Doesn’t make you bold.
Dark minds, I meditate inhaling white lights to shine upon the spirits journey through my mind. Trying to apprehend my thoughts from the graps of confusion. There’s a hole in my mind, I guess that’s where all the memories go.
A missing piece. Trying to find a peace of mind, so if I don’t remember you, don’t be offended. That’s just called letting go…
—
I’m feeling more attached by a cord an some earphones. I’ve know you all my life and look how far we’ve grown, Apart.
This may be the start to a natural disaster. I put the yield sign up, and you chose to keep going. I put up some emotional roadblocks across, but you ignored the caution stories and crossed the lines. Now we’ve come to a complete stop. Feel our foundation shaking beneath us. Is this my fault because I didn’t stunt my growth? I didn’t stop the towing? I came to a fork in the road, it said “You Left ” & “Life Right”.
What else was I suppose to do besides keep going?
This piece can keep going. I’ve only finished the eyes. Those are the windows to peek through if you really want to know me.
But — I’ll finish this Self portrait later. I just wanted to paint the picture, so you could get the point of view as to why I’m struggling growing. And I bet by the time I finish this masterpiece, you still won’t be able to recognize the Real Me.
–Leighrick
PROCLAMATION TRANSFORMATION 