I am an artist.
I have been taught by a friend, teacher, and muse.

I am an artist.
I practice often, drawing faces I don’t know and places I’ve never seen.

I am an artist.
I have my own style, not liked by many. But it is who I am and my own specialties.

I am an artist.
Craving applause and the honor of recognition.

I am an artist.
Who wants to express her thoughts and ideas – her own creativity.

I am an artist.
I’ve seen and studied people’s art, their ways, and their meaning. I have felt emotions pour through the canvas.

I am an artist.
I’ve seen love, anger, sadness, and vengeance. I stare into the eyes of the pained and the faces of loved ones parting.

I am an artist.
I have wished that my paintings are free like a bird, timeless like the sea. For them to be hung on a great wall or decorating a ceiling.

I am an artist.
And yet, when I look down at the sheet of white, I do nothing but explore its blankness. My bird is caged, and my sea is dry. I am too afraid of mistakes. Not ready to try.

Image Credit by cottonbro studio