The world becomes a creepy place when you are the only one to support your dream. That is why some of the most advanced people end up in co-dependencies, or similar secondary problems that provide some kind of comfort, acceptance or love, instead of shouting from the rooftops: “I Am An Artist!” or “I Am an Inventor!”, as soon as they know.
Now that I am in my own recovery (Recovering Artist, yeah baby, there is such a thing!), I can see clearly.
The funny thing is, it never goes away. Neither the talent, nor the fascination with beauty or with solutions, nor the urge to create. You are born a poet, because that is who you are meant to be.
To all the women in my mother’s family whose lives are an example to me and the wind in my back.
22 June 2017
on the rooftop at dawn