My nails break as I climb stairs on my hands and knees,
Like an old bear trudging to his honeypot.
Sweat rolls down my back, pools in-between my breasts, and drips from my eyelashes.
What is so easy for some, strips me of my pride, beauty, and mystery.
I whisper words around my body,
Asking for help from the winds to not push me down,
From the earth to help me ground,
For the water to ease, so I can see,
And for the fire to burn within, so I can move.
When there is no pride left, you only have determination.
It is ugly, dirty, broken, wild, and battered,
And still, it drives you forward.
My hands and knees will bleed before I quit,
But I will quit before I bleed.
My favorite place is in between the sunset and the storm,
Where the evening breeze crackles,
And the colors of the sunlight reminds you how you once dreamed about the horizon as a child.
I love that space in between sultry and electric,
Where summer dances with chaos,
Where your sweat is cooled by the rain,
And where the wild fills your soul.
The storm covers his lover,
Filling her with thrusts of lightning and pounds her with claps of thunder.
The sunset’s orgasm fills the sky with the brightest oranges and pinks,
And the storm releases his rains below.
Darkness covers the land and the wild disappears as fast as it came.
What will you bleed over?
What will you crawl towards, with your pride left behind in the mud, and your beauty long forgotten?
Have you seen your determination in the mirror?
She snarls back at you,
An animal intent on her goal.
She cannot be tamed,
Pulsating with heat and electricity.
What is so easy for some,
Shows me how strong I actually am.
Art Drips, Drop. by. Drop
Art drips from my mind -
(Drop. by. Drop.)
Each drop hold a new cosmos,
a prism of wild imagination blended with simple realities.
Form allows shapes to appear on blank slates,
Function paves the yellow-brick-road for dysfunction,
and colors blend together to create beauty and depth.
What do you see in your dreams?
What do you create with your art?
Is it a canvas, exploding with stars -
a fiery nebula burning at your fingertips?
Is it a variety of birds -
wings sprinkled in magic that flutter from canvas to canvas?
Is it the human eye -
the miniature replica of the universe,
forever defining what we see?
Do you see to believe or believe to see?
Or is it ancient monuments -
their stories of vanished millenniums soaked into their foundations,
Or is it a woman -
that feminine entity seeped in the moon and awash with passion,
her womb a portal to the divine?
Art drips from our minds --
(Drop. by. Drop.)
Come along darling,
and step into the worlds we have created.