Ode To the Starving Artists

For those of you who may not know me that well, and even for some who do, I like to write. I write poetry, stories & songs (although that department is still under development, so don't expect anything from there right now.) I know there are innumerable amounts of people out there who have (or believe to have) artistic talent and hope to use their skills as a meal ticket. I am not one of those people (I do this for fun, my plans are "Deeper Than Rap" (c) Rick Ross), but I can completely understand and even empathize with the authors, poets, rappers, singers, composers, playwrights, actors, etc.

This is my dedication to those who keep the Art alive against all odds.

Poetry can help fulfill my insatiable thirst for attention and recognition

but I can’t eat words or drink creativity.

Regardless of how many minds my lines penetrate,

thoughts they impregnate,

and vivid dreams they conceive,

the price of art can’t compete with the price of eggs, cheese,

bread, meat,

or a sandwich from the deli across the street.

Sex sells, poetry doesn’t.

So when you all were sleeping, I wasn’t.

I was up fighting, writing, biting back the hunger pains

that tore into my stomach.

While my thoughts flourished, my body cried out,

malnourished.

Three course meals of shrimp flavored ramen DO NOT constitute

a balanced diet.

Just like my imagination, my gut could not remain quiet.

But I had to let it know that I hungered for something bigger than a meal,

and far more unique.

Something that could incite or quell a riot with a move of the lips,

something supernatural, a true poets gift.

And until I attain it, I’ll continue to eat sleep,

drink spit, and write with the passion of Christ,

so that one day I’ll no longer be trapped in the darkness,

and I can finally pay for the lights.

As Always,

Pax, Amor et Musica