surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Bullets of art
-Art is a delicate entity. One simply doesn't wake up and come up with the best art. -Art is not a habit or a routine one can conform to.Art is simply art. Nothing satisfyingly defines it better. -For an audience the beauty of art is the result. That moment when everything has come together and there's a beautiful masterpiece to enjoy and drown in. -For an artist, art's beauty is in the process. An apron full of paint, a bin full of crumped up papers, a messed up table with countless failed drawings, broken nails, dark circles from the sleepless night, to mention but a few. -A true artist rejoices in the input because the result is a mirage, a lie necessary for human consumption. -Art never ends. There is always room for more. It's creation is a process that never stops. After all, works of art are often referred to as 'piece of art' ... because nobody can trully capture it all.
By Eastern Twelve3 years ago in Poets
on that side: 2
It just never really made sense to me. I'm just going to do my time and when I get out I'm going to do what I feel is best for me. Because at the end of the day, it's my life. As much as I would love the support, it would not be the end of the world if they weren't on my side all the way throughout my journey. My art teacher is one of my biggest inspirations she always encourages me to bring out my creative side. She believed I could get the job done even when I don't think I can.
By andor rosen3 years ago in Poets
on that side: 1
I've always wanted to have a career in entertainment. Whether it be online. like YouTube and such, or acting on TV and movies. I tell my family all the time about my dreams. My siblings support me. But my parents want me to do something more practical, like go to school and get a degree so I can get a job. But I really don't want to do that. I didn't go to high school for 4 years, hated every single second of it btw, just to get out and go for four more to get a job that I don't even want.
By andor rosen3 years ago in Poets
My Love Letter to You
True to my core, I feel so deeply and you would never know a quarter of it. I am shamefully sensitive, however icy my countenance. I absorb every sweet notion committed in my orbit and it never leaves me. When reflecting on my life, my hyper critical nature replays every mistake and relives every unfortunate or embarrassing moment. I also see those seconds taken out of one’s day to kiss beautiful words into the wind, piercing the oxygen flowing in my direction. The time anyone takes to send me anything so starkly wipes out any “can you…” request I have ever received. I wish I could accurately honor or express how immensely every compassionate, generous, thoughtful gesture effects me. The profoundness can be strangling, but so can the sombering pain. The highs cannot be acknowledged without the sting of the lows, and as someone who both feels so deeply and can be so detached, I can never quite convey just how confounding it can all feel. The whirl I am tangled in feels outstanding. However, I noticed, it is something intangible that I more often feel grateful for than I loathe. I will revisit this and cringe at how dramatic it all feels in two days time, but when someone laughs at my sarcasm, embraces me, serves me a warm meal without a word or tells me I do not need to apologize for them voluntarily lending a hand, my heart will soar and weep with the incredulity of this life I lead. I glance at my texts and I see a thread from a lost family member. Instantly I recall the most vulnerable conversations shared with all of those lost. I realize how lucky I am to have experienced that, to experience those people, those moments in time. Small moments making themselves large and irrevocable in my heart, in my mind. How did I ever manage to form such a beautiful, lasting fortress around me?
By Dakota Love Dangler3 years ago in Poets
