Sorry for keeping you all waiting. I figure that since I have some interesting things coming up, I ought to appetize you beautiful folks with this little number I cranked out for a school assignment. I usually don't publish things I make for school here, but I enjoyed making this one so much I figured it ought to be an exception.

ART HURT

It can’t come cleanly

The fruits of your labor hide in obscurity.

But of the dreaming

You can only build God with efforts weary

Stinging to know you missed the pitch, huh?

Can’t break the mold with dud hits

When all you do is misfire

There’s more holes in you than the target.

Trying to have talent.

Trying to make sense of yourself.

Trying to make soul spill out of your art

Like gasoline fumes

When one spark of love manifests

It burns the whole building down.

Its hard to see yourself deserving that.

No blazes of glory when you jam up at the last second.

Always doubting yourself, misfiring.

Life is a chronic case of the Yips.

And here we are

That’s what it needs

More sweat, more blood,and agony 

More years and tears to complete the rhapsody

Two steps forward, one step back. 

All to prove you’re not a talentless hack.

And at the end of it all

You exist to scrawl

On all of the walls

The little thoughts you had

And everything you were

All you could be

Were shaped by something much more mad.

I think you broke something in your head

To make you think instead

That you meant nothing to me.

That all you did and all you said

Was grass under the mower.

The beautiful things you made, who could forget?

-TheJudddman