• My life is the art of blue lines and white background
    with chicken scratch whispering the words of imagination and truth.

    It is a grueling type of labor
    with unparalleled achievements.

    It does not come from a voice
    or a vision,
    it sprouts from a line
    that only one mind can envision.

    It comes from a heart
    with an unmatched beat
    and a broken rhythm from months without sleep.

    It is a life that does not exist in the hellish reality
    but in the center of its eye
    Each direction shows another truth
    another path to describe
    another choice to define
    another life to explain
    another struggle to be named

    It is the work of reality outside of it
    an expert opinion on the world that belongs to no one
    that no one else can see,
    a world that exists inside the mind of the chosen
    and that alone is enough.

    My life is the path chosen
    without money or fame in mind.
    It is a journey of imagery in the mind's eye
    of a place that I know but can never reach.
    A place where I know everyone like the back of my hand,
    their decisions clear to me,
    and their struggles cutting into me with pain and loneliness.

    A barrier blocks me from this world that I love so much.

    With the characters I cherish and all that I want
    behind these thick walls that stand far too tall,
    how will I ever cross?

    Can I do nothing but hear their muffled screams as their stories go unattended?
    Can I lift this pencil once more to dig my way to the other side,
    To see the blue painted sky of my world, and be able to speak to them all again?

    Once again, tell me your stories that the wall is determined to block out.
    You will not be locked up in vain,
    pages after pages are yours,
    just scream to me your name.

    My life is the art of blue lines and white background
    with crinkled edges and black smudges
    but with centuries' worth of untold history on its pages.
    My story. My life. My world.