artist?

I used to create drawings, with charcoal sticks and gummy erasers. Whatever I was going through, I was still proud of my work. Each piece spoke a little more of what was inside- of my struggles and emotions. Drawing made me happy, freed me in a way nothing else could. I always knew I could create beauty, even when my head was dark and ugly. It was the gift given to me by God. My work challenged me, won awards, put me into the college of my choice. It was what I had going for me.
But now- now I feel like vomiting before my 1:40 figure drawing class. I pull at my clothes, my hair, my skin; digging at my surface for a sense of security. My confidence dwindles as each hour approaches class. Sometimes, I just leave. I walk out of the art school I worked so hard to get in. And when I'm out, I feel I can breath again, after holding my breath for so long. I dont know if its the stuffy art crowd that gets me down. All of them so distant and iconic. I feel beneath them, and I feel they know it. Their eyes judge my old, thrown-together wardrobe. I am not hip enough. And my work- their eyes skim over, noses higher in the air. I am not good enough. My complex tarnishes more everyday. This, paired with my loneliness- only leads to self hatred. Maybe if I was skinnier, or bought new clothes, then i could work harder and create what they wanted me to. I am foolish for stating that. But its in my head. My damned artist head.

figure drawing conversation

who would i be if i never met him?

Fall 2011

i die with the leaves
spinning downward from my life in a golden crust
(rebirth)
i sleep with decay
each breath a grim prayer to the higher power
(recreate)
i will live again

bears

i wish i could hibernate like the bears. fall asleep in my bed and wake up months later. but i am the one who couldn't change pace. i am the one left wondering the barren forest, searching for a life that does not exist anymore.

Someone

Come and make me real.
Touch me and wake me up.
Hold me-
Tell me my heart is beating.
Kiss my forehead,
Stop the spinning.
Hold my hand-
Bring me back;
Back to You.

Mirror

My skin,
Its not my own. I tug at my clothes,
they dont sit the same.
The mirror,
Ill shatter on the floor- if i look one more time
At that girl.
Still on autopilot.
I curse such a thing. Never should i be this way,
Not a way at all.
Avoiding the pain,
The reality. Not able to stay in my mind,
It spins and spins.
Where will I go? I used to know so much.
I used to know you.
I spin.
And i know it is him,
In the back of my brain. Stealing my shine,
By spitting on my soul. I held the bars,
He pinned on my shadow.
Played the games,
To pass the time. Sweet time,
So lost.
Lessons learned?
I pray.
This hike up this hill,
I will trek to find myself.
Out of this hole,
A damned ugly hole. I'll face my fear,
I swear i will. And keep all my promises.
I'll get back to myself.
And then get back
To You.
And its not for You.
Its for me.
Your a gift to me. I accept,
Once i accept the girl in the mirror.
The one starring back at me.
Broken on the floor.
No more.