The Curse of Being Creative

I’m transparent.

Which means you can see right through me. Not physically. Just my heart you see. I wear my emotions right on my sleeve. I don’t try to be. Like that. I just. Have so much in me to give. I wanna live. Freely.

I’m a diva. They say it all the time. Meaning I have a fit when the conditions aren’t just write for me. To operate creatively.

Who ever heard of a perfect artist?

Most geniuses are quite freaky. That encourages me.

My mind can’t grasp longevity. I just see me…doing me.

I paint pictures with my words. I give love through my stories. I regurgitate my hopes daily. I want to be…Different…changed…better…MORE.

Where am I now? I don’t even know.

Where will I be?

Heaven knows.

I flitter and I flutter. My boys are my gravity.

Otherwise I’d be…in Egypt somewhere. Trying to find me. Behind every bush or every tree.

My back breaks beneath the weight of my gift. I want to give it away but I can’t find room for it. I want to give love wherever I go but it’s often mistaken for…something else. I don’t know what.

I’d like to sit on the corner. Write poems for a dollar. Sleep in strange places. Shine like the brightest star.

Can I find the right path to my destiny? Everything that surrounds me seems so cloudy.

I think God made me beautiful.

He made me so lovely.

But I can’t give the gift of me. Cuz no one will receive. Me.

I’m boarding a plane. Looking for seat 3C. It’s reserved just for me. But it doesn’t exist..naturally.

I wonder if anyone else feels this way. Searching through darkness, hoping for day. Wanting to take root but knowing you can’t stay. Hoping that someone, somewhere will provide an open embrace.

I see me…so easily. Breaking bread. Making bread. Inspiring millions. Loving my children. Connecting with God. On a higher plane.

I wanna shake this world. Don’t you understand? I give love the best way I can. I’m a woman. Solely. Only…I’m a creative mind too.

Where’s my room? Where’s my roof?

Where’s my longevity?

Do all success stories begin just like me?

I don’t want to wait till I’m gone to hear about how the world appreciated me. To hear words of grace and gratitude and appreciation.

I’d like to sit on the rooftop. Smoke a fat one. Talk to God. I’d like for Him to sit with me. Puff with me. Scoop me up and fly with me.

Why isn’t that request strange to me?

If God can move mountains, He can surely come talk to me.

In the midst of being me…creatively. I fight to sleep because there’s so much more I can be.

A regular chick I am not.

Kind of an anomaly.

Consistently..pushing me.

Toward greatness. First in my own mind.

Then in the limelight.

Then in my boys eyes.

Then I’ll be ready to fly.

Wonder Woman.

Angel Eyes.

What’s next?

It’ll be a surprise.

Creatively me.

Creative is she.

The Santa Claus of the literay world.

Bringing tidings of joy to the world.

I just…had to let that out.