I see you,
Littering the earth with my constellations.
Yes, MY my dancing stars, not yours to hang
On tacky dorm room walls
With push-pins and double-sided tape.
Rich off the back of my frenzied labor.
Wildflowers should be wild you know,
Basking in the compassionate sun.
Not withering within your dank, pretentious walls.
You don’t know me.
With all your analysis,
And your theories,
And your feigned sympathy
For the cliché’d “tortured artist”.
You are so proud of yourselves.
But you have no idea.
I had nothing but the ringing in my brain.
The relentless thoughts,
The blinding colors,
The dizzying motion,
The visceral urgency,
All competing their way to the surface
‘Till I could no longer breathe.
I was the slave of creation,
A little death in each stroke.
My pain is now your beauty,
You’d better enjoy it.