The Muse Lives on
When he dies "it" continues to live. It's a creative entity that will live on.
Energy, it cannot be created or destroyed. She must move on and serve her purpose. To grow and inspire as she has for me. Like a domino falling to tap the next artist on the shoulder. A muse never dies. A work of art will always have a impact on the viewer. Then that push will be translated into action. Inspiration comes from what is already created or existing. Therefore the muse that sits quietly waiting to inspire is only still until she finds another vessel. She is the demon inside me who will one day be in someone else. she is eternal she is everlasting and she is pure energy.
We Wear Bright Colors in a Dark Way.
Living a life full of colors. Where the rainbow has no end. We pretend to be alive when we are actually walking dead. Androids to what we think others may see us as. Without realizing reality is different in everyones eyes. Dressing up in all these colors of life, red blue, orange, yellow and green while on the inside our eyes are closed and we remain dead. That feeling of being left out in the cold world constantly moving at a high speed. She stands still. lonely and unfed. Feed her white and black so she can see that in-between playing dress up theres more to life than material possessions and physical lacks. Beauty is more than skin deep, it has no color.
But until she, he, us the people of earth stop to realize that we can wear the rainbow yet still live not survive. We are left prisoners in our own skin,
trapped underneath the colors of a clown.
Dressed by thoughts. Her voice seen through photographic images allowed her to forget about any oppression that changes the color of her skin into a phobia. She is a minority woman in the industry. Her voice is as beautiful as a chore of angels but yet it remains silent. She must abide by particular rules. She must overcome certain limitations twice sometimes three times before she is recognized. Through influence she has chased a dream that not only becomes her but consumes her. She is constantly opening doors to find her own thrown. It is not as easy for her as it was for everyone else. So through the struggle she arrises stronger better and wiser. At the end she is still overlooked until one day she no longer asks but takes what wasn't given but earned.
My attraction for studs did not come from fashion but from my growth. In a sense of speaking, people, humans, we are alot like a plant. We can grow and shed our wn layers. We can grow thorns our oundaries that protect yet hurt others. Sometimes we are so appealing and delicate to the higher contendor. Gentle like a flower strong like a tree and we age as the rings how as wrinkles on our face.