I am an artist,
I whisper,
barely audible under my breath.
No,
a quiet voice says,
the one I call my own.
No,
echoes my person,
the one that I love.
No,
says my teacher,
the ultimate master of comparison.
–
I am an artist,
I repeat,
clenching my fists.
No,
yells the storefront
mass producing their goods.
No,
shouts green presidential faces,
haunting my purchases.
No,
slams the government,
dangling insurance out of reach.
–
I am an artist,
I scream,
passion burning my chest.
No,
chant the people,
phones in front of their faces.
No,
roars my family,
among those I hold close.
No,
wails fate,
each day pulling me further away.
–
But,
defeated, broken, ashamed,
I am an artist,
I mutter one last time.
–
Yes,
you are,
the wind says softly,
tossing my hair,
tickling my skin.
Yes,
resounds the sea,
waves roaring
upon my soul.
Yes,
states the mountain,
calm confidence
in my veins.
Yes,
proclaim the flowers,
belief growing
along the stems and leaves.
Yes,
gurgles the river,
cleansing my doubt,
rippling of joy.
Yes,
affirms the sky,
bold and brilliant,
colors upon my spirit.
–
I am an artist,
I declare into
the wind
sea
mountains
flowers
river
sky.
–
Yes,
answers the universe,
You are an artist.
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