This poem is about the feelings that I, as someone who frequently creates different forms of art, feel surrounding creativity and the concept of art as a whole. It is written in free verse because free verse is my favorite to write in.
The Creatives
There is art in my soul.
It is
undeniable.
Tangible to me and only me—
I know I am made of it.
Weeping from me, It bleeds out my cuts and stains my skin.
Alight, I glow.
My fingers cannot help
but grope for it,
the passion and joy of
doing what I was crafted to do—
I create images of myself and my being
in every medium I can,
spreading my breath like wildflower pollen,
carried by the breeze.
I work myself into stitches, into sketches, into stanzas.
In another life,
I would be a poet.
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