The Artist

The Artist

By Jhantu Randall
Staff Writer & Contributing Poet

Traveling in my wayward mind searching for what’s clear
A place once muddled with sinking doubt powering crippling fear.
What’s in a name?
Today I walk away
The sun’s brightness cleanses dirty deeds;
Healing internally from wounds the world will never see.

Still I stay silent when it comes to any meaningful discussion focused on me
Far from nervous,
Just blocking unexplained pain from ever reaching the surface.
Happy is a place I’ve been
But all that was tied to the environment.
I admit it’s difficult dealing with the day to day,
Lately I wished some things would’ve stayed
If this is the life we live this must be the price I pay.

Smiling fully seeing what I thought was solid suddenly pulled away
Self-proclaimed martyr who knows others have it worse than me.
I think if things played out different would I still be a similar me?
Like what if I was never chosen and I dug in the trash for something to eat
Would I be a pawn or someone to refuse’s defeat
without missing a beat I carry on.
In a place of hopeful dreams but the drinks are all gone.
I step to the mic, set up, getting ready to speak
If this is the peak let my voice raise me from any trap perceived.
Free from any sense of captivity,
Coming full circle it ends and starts again
Nothing is safe from the artists masterful pen.

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