My Critics

I shun criticism, sharp or kind For my soul seeks not to be defined My art, my life - a sacred flame Not meant for judgement, not for fame Joy escapes when I share my heart, For the world tears each piece apart Yet my spirit longs, it aches, it pleads for a whisper of worth, a balm for needs Little I knew, as a child, as grown That feelings are valid, even unknown So I write, I paint, I dare to create, Not fearing if it's ugly or second rate Dear Soul, make art- let it be wild, Be it raw, imperfect, tender, or mild For Rome wasn't built in a day Nor is a masterpiece, come what may Embrace your potential, nurture the spark, Let it blossom, light up the dark. Be your own critic, gentle and wise, For truth lives within, not in others eyes A thing from the soul, pure and sincere Is a piece of you - precious, clear Not to be hated, nor judged, nor sold But to be acknowledged - a treasure untold.