gypsyroadsongs

[gypsyroadsongs]

*Yawn*

Yet another dawn, better get up off this lawn. My neck, my hip, my back, my knees ache from this life, full of strife, got your knife? 

Defend your life!

Living with no address, for longer than a dime. No more, I'm done. Now it's my time.

The roads I've walked, trains I've jumped, cities, nature, urban, rural.

The smiling faces, disgusted sneers, the faces shown for my path’s social graces.

Thousands, upon thousands of handshakes, fist bumps, what's ups? And peaces.

The souls I've eased with my quiet ear. Some stories?! Christ sake!

Learning, working, earning, yearning. For a life more than survival, struggle, fighting, grey hairs, and mother nature.

Gypsy's I have been called. Teacher, brother, addict, my love, creature. 

Through asshole training, was taught assertiveness. The circus university taught me many plays and cons to high effectiveness . Even if in those actions, my soul is left paining.

The twilight zone is where I live, where people that aren't all people. Snatched in body, dark energy fused in bone. 

I feel I must escape, for fear of being swallowed whole. Rumors, slanders, gossips, tumors. 

This is not where my final rest shall be. This riverbed, this maze. Cutting my way to the next dawn, because this struggle… continues on.

But I no longer choose this rat race. I'm taking my life at a stronger pace. I won't run, or hide, you'll all know my face.

I open myself to the universes guidance, it's wisdom, it's teachings, it's mercies, now it's abundance.

I've set my frame for the downslope from over this hill. The second act, dressed in fine, a glass of wine. I need a refill.

Building up my brand, trademark, copyright, watermarked, stamped, shipped, delivered to your hand.

Open it up, turn it on, hang it up, pump it up, play it til the light of dawn.

Never will my wandering end. My path calls me away. But owning homes along it's way, showers, Egyptian cotton sheets, no alleys, no cardboard, no more concrete.

I am ready to face my success. Trepidation always sabotaging access. No longer am I my worst enemy, let's see what I can be.

Y'all just try and stop me.

[gypsyroadsongs]

I, am an artist. Creativity runs my course. Passionate hues thrown against the wall, into prismatic shatters.

Poetic rhetoric my heart's beating pulse. With pen I scribe angelic limericks into song.

On the white of the canvas, I form a crystalline window, into the eyes of my soul. Frozen moments of imaginations call.

On wood, stone, brick, and paper, my artist's hand forms worlds, characters, dangers, movements. And just as easily end these worlds.

Does that make me a god, in a sense?

At the artist's need, one can birth forth new life in the infinity.

Life, birthed from imaginations. Art breathes in us all. In the most abstracts, to the linear, to the art of logic, and discipline.

Through expression, collaboration, perspectives, and shoes, and miles.

We all create, our mediums and tools may vary in type, but the artist's soul isn't bound to a singularity of canvas.

All possess art in their blood.

Many struggle finding their inner fire of passion’s expression.

Fearing criticism, judgements, misinterpretation, shame.

So, in silent repression, another creative soul stills, stagnates, pools and decays. I tear when thinking of the one's told, “no, you'll fail.”, “people will judge you.”, “you'll never succeed in art.”. Who could have cast their unique shades and colors into this beautiful calamity called life.

Don't let their doubts steal your muse. Don't bury your passion's fire. For if you make that doubt shade your light. Then their war is won. They the victor, your soul, half slane.

Be true to the voice that pushes you to sing. Sing upon the highest voice, declare your soul, stand proud.

For you are an artist.