Art.

I have no perception of what I'm capable of. I'm here to live out loud. To breathe and eat and cry in the beam of light I've placed on myself. I'm here for entertainment. I'm here to wonder vocally. I'm here everyone to watch and try to understand, but never touch.

I'm fucking untouchable.

I'm here to record my life, because it's never funny the first time through. With some proof reading and good vocabulary, anything will shine through and burn into the reader's mind. Struggles make stories tastey, a mouthful of misconception, followed by one's own reactions. I'm only here to give you that bitter taste you're craving, or that sweet romance missing from your own personal, lonely life.

I am a fucking piece of art.

Art is living in the monochromatic light, holding one grey crayon and finding a way to make everything relate to real life. Even if the colors never range further, the contrast will create some kind of illusion for everyone to see.

Artists paint their own fucking pictures that turn out to be their lives. All before we're even told what we're signing up for.

I wouldn't live this way, if I had a choice. I'd be a doctor, or a psychiatrist, or someone who travels overseas to help slash never-ending poverty. I'd never choose this life. Being an artist is being outside of the boundaries. Being an artist is constant hunger and never knowing what being satisfied or content is. Being an artist is never being complete.

I know, until the day I die, I'm going to be hungry. There will always be empty spaces that constantly whine to be filled. And I will run on empty countless times, but I'll battle my fucking self just to keep the light on me. I'll show the whole fucking world what it's like to never live up to your own standards, because you're always two steps behind.

Art is a battle within one's self. Something that always wants OUT.

I am an artist. I am fucked.