The artist rips pieces from themselves and gives it to the world to see
Their pain, their love, their elation, their hopelessness
In each stroke of a brush, in each word written, in each verse composed
We seek to let others see ourselves
We are minnows in a pool hoping that the tiny waves we create never stop rippling
Or at least that they reach the one that love our malformations as much as our beauty marks
And- when needed- tell us we've blown gales when we've only made breezes