The Artist

“Nobody will ever love you as much as an artist can. On your worst days they will find poetry in your hair.”

Living is beyond hard for the artist.

It rips our heart out and kills it slowly. It’s not pretty.

The life of the artist is over sleeping or under sleeping. It’s overeating or under eating. It’s drinking or smoking or something that helps us survive. It’s working hour after hour obsessing over our projects. Forgetting everyone around us.

We pour our heart and soul into our art. Usually to escape the deep wounds from our childhood. The artist could have been ignored, bullied, belittled, abandoned or something that caused our souls to be tender toward art and its healing power.

Then love finds us and it’s our drug for a while. We don’t need any thing else except that person. And if that person is a fellow artist then we finally believe that we aren’t alone in our strange world. And two artists are like no other. It’s different.

Then they destroy us by their words and actions and leave us making sure what little heart we had left, after the world tried to destroy our sensitive soul, was completely broken.

Destroyed beyond words…and we make our living by our words. They can recover but we cannot. It will always be an open wound.

Even if they come back even if we find another love we’ll always have a gaping wound from who destroyed our soul.

The life of the artist isn’t wearing rose colored glasses. It isn’t writing in romanticized coffee shops. It isn’t doodling in picturesque landscapes or writing song lyrics by a calm stream. It isn’t about the money. It isn’t about the attention: it’s about survival.

Survival in a world that doesn’t understand why we are deeply affected by…everything. It’s screaming and crying and mood swings. It’s pushing those closest to us away because we say and do things we don’t mean. It’s too much emotion or not enough. It’s being too open with those around us or being too closed.

However, the artist can love, eat, breathe, live like no other. Everything is poetic. Everything has meaning. We give hope to those who may not understand our struggle but enjoy it’s product. We are some of the most lovable, frustrating, annoying, kind, mean people you’ll ever meet. And if you ever get the rare gift of loving an artist you will never be the same.

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