I create. I, who mumble, fidget, and shake in front of people I do not know, find my release through art.
The image of a small island in the middle of the bluest ocean engages my mind as a song that touches my soul fills my ears.
I often find myself here, on this island alone, safe, and protected, finding comfort in the words I write, the images I make, and the music I create.
A piano, a pen, and paper are all I need to feel content at any moment.
I, an endless dreamer, cannot wait to return to a piano bench, a desk chair, or the branch of a tree that has held me since childhood.
My fingers strike the piano keys as a solitary note lifts through the air; I live, dream, and breathe music. My hands dance across the keyboard as I play - G, C, A.
My thoughts, feelings, and aspirations come through my music. The ever persisting vision of black and white keys fill my mind whether sleeping or awake. A keyboard of ivory is all I need.
A simple white sheet of paper with lines and dots can keep me occupied for hours
I can’t see a moment of my life where I am not surrounded by music, whether listening to a few short guitar strums from my headphones, hearing hammers hitting the taut string of a piano,
or hearing rhythm throughout everyday life. I cannot escape music, for music is a creator of who I am today.
I look at my computer screen, seeing poems, short stories, books, and ideas.
The pixels on the screen are the only other safe place for my thoughts to be outside of my brain, not scrutinized or analyzed. It is just me.
These words hold every emotion and feeling I felt when I typed them out. Happy, sad, angry, or empty, it’s all there, stored where only I can see them.
Ink spills from my pen as the dark liquid fills the empty canvas, bringing my imagination to life. Eyes and lips begin to fill my page as I draw something new.
An image only I can see and only I can create.
Nature fills my page as I paint everything I find beautiful: flowers, trees, water, an island with a grand tree and the bluest ocean you will ever see. All are a part of me, and only me.
Everything I create is an extension of my own body, something only I can concoct and something only I can present. What I create is as unique as the DNA in my cells.
Only I can create what I imagine, dream, or see. No one else can mimic exactly how I touch a piano key, or how I read the music.
No one can write exactly like me; grammar mistakes, repetition, run-on sentences, and all.
No one can replicate my brush strokes, color combinations, or haphazard scribbling of a pencil as I sketch whatever comes to my colorful mind.
No one can truly say they know me, if they have never seen me, lost in my own world with a pen in hand. Frequently I am trodding through the mountains, valleys, and oceans of my head.
Gazing in wonderment at what I can imagine, soon putting it on paper so I can never forget.
Sketchbooks and music sheets litter the floor of my mind. I carefully step over each one in careful consideration of every idea. Art exists in my very blood.
No one can ever take away my ability to create. I cannot stop; it’s all I think about all day. I will never stop creating, forever continuing, until the day I die.
My mind often is full of words, music lines, and images. I will always sit on the high branch of that knotted tree, sketching, writing or composing music. It’s all I wish I could do with my time.
It is not always easy to create. Times get hard, and they always will but music and writing are always there for me.