Sunday, June 8, 2014

Creative Abuse

My creativity inspires,
And then bullies with doubt.
It pushes my brush stroke,
And forces images out.

It schemes with charcoal,
Graphite and oil paint.
It purges scenes,
Both surreal and quaint.

It spews typed font,
Moves the flow of ink.
It expounds fabrications,
Before I can pause and think.

But when the canvas has dried,
And the draft has been saved,
My creativity scoffs –
Its responsibility waived.

Why that color?
Why that word?
What were you thinking?
You're trite and absurd.

The abuse becomes too much,
Until from creativity I retreat.
But eventually it beckons me once again,
With its encouraging deceit.

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