Vivication

rambling with eyes wide cursing oneself again traveling the tracks of routine & coming up empty handed again, watching the clock tick the way that frustrates & feeling the wrinkles come to the surface of that face that is becoming closer to the one you deserve, than the one that gets worked on, the one that has a chance & all along, you be wondering, just when & where & how it will all end, yet, as an artist, you find yourself channeling every single bit of what comes into your work, because this is the way you breathe, this is the way you live--- doesn’t mean they have to like it doesn’t mean they have to care doesn’t mean you have to make them understand doesn’t mean you have the time to put a “reason” to your rhyme--- now is the time to toss out the broken communications, now is the time to round up those skills that give you esteem--- yes, you are allowed to do whatever you want, yes, you are allowed to be yourself, yes, you are allowed to do this for you & you alone, because hugs are slim & kisses roam free, they seem to dance around those who sell out, who give up, who got prestige & money, don’t have to be a scientist working on rockets to come to the conclusion that romantic love = artistic suicide & that is that.