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.
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