We are Artists

There are so many things inside my heart and not enough space for them to come out.

Sometimes I think I will break, simply because I am bubbling all over on the inside. There is an abundance of energy - all forms of energy - skipping around, dancing around, churning and wringing about and it's just dying to jump out. My body doesn't seem capable of containing all that I am, and I feel restricted and enclosed. I can feel my pulse, my irregular heart-beat, as all the things that compose me are forced through my veins and arteries at this irregular tempo; it is my life-rhythm and it creates me.

And what am I? What are any of us?

I am flesh, yes. And I am human. I am a woman, a daughter, a lover, all of these typical things. And yet, I am so much more.

I am a dream. A snowflake. A song. A bird. Water. The fall-breeze. A lick of vanilla ice-cream. Fresh paint on raw hands. An Edison light-bulb. Chalk dust. The smell of rain. A forehead kiss. An empty swimming-pool. A mountain day. An old library book. A soggy cheerio. Mismatched socks. The last bit of toothpaste. A chipped teacup. A blade of grass. A sweater. Shower-steam. A stray cat-hair. A blistering sunburn. A droplet of sweat. A small noise. Pumpkin pie. A missing shoe. Peeling fingernail polish. A Leaky faucet. A fast drive. A thought. And a smile. And that first time you fell in love...

I am all of these things and more.

Sometimes I want to shout it to the world, to explode into all the things that I am at once! I want people to see more than what they see. I desire to place my hand into someone else's and just have them know me.

And, I want to feel someone else's hand and know all the things that compose them as well. I want to be a worm and crawl around inside of minds; to discover what composes people, who they are when they are no more than what they can be. I want to roll around in the warmth of the world, to see things beyond what my eyes are capable of seeing.

Perhaps this is what makes me an artist. I desire to understand and to be understood. I am bursting at the seams. I am overflowing into the world and this overflow must be contained somehow. It must be put somewhere. I have spent my life trying to repress all the multitudes of my emotions, all the faucets of who I am. I tried to squeeze into a box, mold myself into what I thought I wanted and what everyone else wanted, and it turns out, that doesn't work. So instead I shall explode! Because hiding is no fun at all.

Dear World, I'm a little crazy. I'm a lot of quirky. Some days I'm hard to handle and difficult to understand. But this is what makes me beautiful, and so I shall celebrate it.

And you are beautiful too.