I want to create and contribute, but
I do not know how. I've looked at your
perfected art for inspiration. When I look at mine all I see are mistakes.
Something wrong here, something missing here. I became
my own worst critic. But when I look at yours all I say is "I like the different patterns."
It's easier to think about than to do, but I give it a try and
when I put pencil to paper, I work hard but clumsily. It looks nothing like your
art. The cycles of inspiration, trial, and error are patterns
I have perfected. I ask myself "When will I make a masterpiece?" and I answer back "Never"
I thought that maybe your art was always meant to be just yours. So I looked
at a blank space. I started over and over so many times and yet not a single try was good
enough to be saved from its fate in the garbage bin. Maybe I'm too hard on
myself. Maybe there's something I can do that doesn't "you" but screams "ME"
- Author: tb (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: September 23rd, 2021 04:07
- Comment from author about the poem: This was originally an assignment for school about two years ago, we were writing the words of another artist as the last words in each line of the poem. I chose a stanza in Alicia Cook\\\'s poem called Fits. The poem has a dual meaning to me, my relationship with the constant artistic comparison I\\\'ve conquered as well as a previous romantic relationship
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
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