I sit and stare at a blank canvas. I say I have no inspiration; but I lie.
My inspiration comes from my thoughts and emotions. They're a mess right now. A turmoil inside me, wanting me to speak.
But I don't. I wait. And wait. And wait.
Until finally, I'm alone with just my thoughts, dead on the outside. So I start. A splatter of paint here, a stroke of paint there.
I paint until the canvas is filled. Until all my emotions are splayed on the canvas, raw for everyone to see, and I stare.