Daily Prompt: Abide

I was born into a long line of artists – we create in many different means

You see years of hardship and worry worn into our frames

Our hands bear our love of colors and shapes that make this world

We document it in any means we can convey adequately

Many of us push it to the side because we have seen the lives of our flesh trying to live off what makes the world go round

Doing what we love in the free moments and publishing it to the world to consume in moments

Touching them in ways they could never be touched otherwise

We change lives but can only do so when no one is watching

Secrets held in pencil sketches and paint stained clothing

I paint, my mother photographs, her brother sculpts, my grandmother painted, her brother painted, they came from a long line of jewelers

My cousins set up a gallery in an art museum of their own work earning themselves a lifetime ban yet¬†also earning spots on NYC’s most notable artists under 35

But we all have had to take day jobs to live by the standards of a society we shed light on

Our love is poured out not in what our daily pay defines but how we define everything else

We have to abide by rules set up by people who look down on creators like us

But we still find time for what our hands were designated to do

Being born into this family is being born into a line of the world’s movers and shakers doing it all unconventionally

I am honored to be one of them

via Daily Prompt: Abide

Advertisements

I am my parents

Which is to say I am all the broken people who came before them

My father and I act so alike sometimes you cannot tell the difference

Both too arrogant to admit so we keep it to one is copying the other

I inherited my mother’s face and the simple forgetful that follows her

Thus writing everything down, making arbitrary sound beautiful

The volume control in my lungs came broken just like my father’s and both of us refuse to fix them

Art came from my mother’s inheritance

She photographs

I do anything to stop my hands shaking even fore a little while

Capturing moments I am sure I will forget in the palms of my hand

Transferring them to any medium that will listen

I was given addiction I thought I was too smart to recieve

Neither parent is to blame but one knows firsthand better than the other

My father, his father, his siblings, my cousins all taste something sweet in the  bitter destruction of livers, lungs, and hearts

The distance I put between my mother and I for everything I saw, everything I felt

In hopes it would hurt her a little less

Will sting me after she’s left us

As I look in the mirror to see her reflection staring back at me