The Tortured Soul of the Artist


Battered and bruised, betrayed and misused
Passion on fire, this burning desire
To prove Them all wrong
To prove Them all right?
No, no. Can't let that happen.
I am only me
But soon they will see
Just what I can be.
Can I?
Is it there?
Doubt plagues the fragile ego.
Determination and willpower
Can fade.
Humiliation. Degradation. Suffocation.
This hate, this sorrow, this burdening life.
Serve a purpose.
Suffer for your art.
Bleed ink, cry acrylic, sweat water colors
One with your art, your child
Your creation
Misery can be turned into an art form.
But the nagging doubt...
The fear...
The panic...
Never goes away.
Make it stop!
It will not stop.
Make it go away!
It is here to stay.
Art gets into your soul, the most addictive of drugs.
You cannot quit.
Slave you your passion
Broken heart
Tortured soul
Go.
Make your mark.
Channel your downfalls,
Mistakes,
Fears,
Rages,
Sadness.
Leave your heart on the paper.
Use the fragmented bits of whatever soul you have, or had
They are your tools.
I can't- I must!
But what if- who cares?
They all- them who?
Prove.
Them.
Wrong.
Stun them, shock them, amaze and astound them.
Your being, your essence, made to take physical form.
Throw your fears not to the wind, but to the canvas.
The tortured soul sings again
Forever.