My Own Art


I write, but not well. I don’t draw, though I wish I could. I can’t play music or sing, although I love to watch and listen to people who can.

Despite all this, I am an artist.

I examine my life and I make myself the canvas. I write in the universal language that is simply living and being. The path I walk down makes up the strings of my guitar and the keys in my piano. In this way, we’re all artists and if we’re fortunate we’ll know it and eventually lose ourselves in it’s discovery.


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