she creates.

what happens when an artist loses her artistry? when the pen falls from her hand, when the rhythm fades from her step, when the shutter stops beneath her finger. she is left surrounded by those that are still creating and yet she creates no more. every ounce of inspiration sits in waiting amidst the musings of someone else.

her words are not her words. her moves are not her moves. her images are not her images. there is a desire to find them again, yet something encases the urge. trapping each idea below the surface. with no awen there to pull them through the glass, she stares at the reflection until they disappear untouched.

she fights the cravings by occupying time with distractions, but like any addiction, the need returns. as she watches others craft and indulge, she cannot help but envy the outcomes. chaos captured into something beyond rational comprehension. how can she transcend the disconnect? when does she become them?

day by day, the energy subdivides and focus falls into multitasking passions. we want it all, so we try to take it all. but, her container cannot hold it all. she overflows spilling out necessary pieces of her intuition. you cannot put toothpaste back into the tube, but she will try. she will continuously try. every lost edge reformed to fit back into her current puzzle.

she falls in and out of love with the notion of creativity, trying to comprehend how this seemingly insignificant portion of her being occupies so many hours of her thought. mental exhaustion battling the misunderstood efforts to define her influence.

she deafens herself with their songs, their words, their rhythms, their rhymes, until she can no longer hear her yearnings. misguiding each intention to disillusion. the tired moth dissolves to dust in the flame.

then something shifts.

a hidden glint of what could be appears from the ashes, and she can’t help but hold onto it for dear life. a simple reminder that creation is eternal. that an empty space can always be filled with something more. that action stimulates art.

and then, she creates.

3 thoughts on “she creates.

  1. Weasel, I am not sure who you are describing, but it obviously is not you. After studying the last 3 “define-ings”, you haven’t lost a thing. SO proud of you always, keep taking all you can out of life, it goes fast. 🙂

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