i am an artist.
i am free to express myself in every stroke, splat, line.
my pencil is my sword, my brush, inspiration
i breathe in remnants of the essence of renaissance, nouveau
baroque which is old, which is new
and the words of aristotle and tagore
resonate faintly in my mind.
in my dreams i am brightly coloured
with pink hair
and a green skirt.
i care less about the world's adversity
but that is because i am in a dream.
in reality my needs overwhelm my freedom
i am forced to kneel at society's feet as they beckon
and i am uncreative, jaded
the weight of the world is upon my shoulders.
i am an artist of my time, this time.
