I love too much
I become a monster.
August seasoned my summer with more raindrops.
I feel less incomplete,
someone with more soul.
The longing doesn’t end though
but the deep pits appear shallow.
As if August could lend a hand
and pick me up from deep valleys.
It’s not that I don’t miss July
But August, It’s preparing me
for less shame and more colors.
‘Cause soon it will be time for Fall.
Today, I saw a kid scrawling graffiti
Well, today I caught a kid expressing
mercilessly on the walls.
What to say—
How does it feel to witness an artist in his/
her artistry form?
I always relished the idea of art in its
process instead of a polished result;
a duckling instead of a swan,
a messy color palette over gracefully-sketched canvas
a mere, timid sapling to a magnificent tree.
Any art in its raw form tells how everything starts weak, disoriented and vague.
We are a part of someone’s process as well;
Perhaps our own.
Somewhat damaged, somewhat
overpainted with layers and layers of
stories, corrections hidden beneath.
The journey of self-breaking and self-making
tainted with love and lessons
trying to reach an end goal with self-discipline
Who’s to say what to become of us…
but being the masters of our brushes
we are as unique as any fine craft
and the burnt marks on the soul
allows us a chance to make our own graffiti.