Moods

Being part of a creative circle. Doesn't guarantee the journey. Getting locked into an outlet. The mental overthrowing of all things normal. In reality. Is the very reason why most people choose not to be creative. I'm not in the mood. Isn't "Art" a mood? Writing. The act of setting the mood? Moodiness. A person blessed with the opportunity to feel the shapes of multiple collaborations. The longer you create. The more you learn how to separate. Who is the writer? Why has the painter slash illustrator suddenly presented his or her face? I didn't invite the editor! What do you mean the interviewer. The inner self that asks endless amounts of questions is sitting outside the bathroom? I penned out a song in 2009 called Daily Writing. I turn the page. A thousand personalities rush to the edge. If I could paint a face. I'd show you every mood I'm in. Rustic days and endless nights. Feelings inside too strong to fight. Going home to be left alone. Julia's way. In artist clothes. Don't wanna run. Can't find the sun. Don't wanna hide. Shadows steal from the artists eye. Julia taught me how to change my way. To paint with words every day. Going home to be left alone. Julia's way. In artist clothes. A quick glance at your reaction. Puts a memory into place. Got no idea why this happened. Guess God was mad at me that day. Numb doesn't mean empty without feeling. Numb only seems like nothing. For a heart feels something. To be left alone. Going home to be left alone. Black pen. White pen. Just let me in. Give me a pad of paper to release what's in. Living on the edge of a Poet's nib. It becomes my blood. Giving life to love. Going home to be left alone. I'm just an artist in human clothes. Kind of weird. How admitting. That you're a writer. Opens the floodgates. To moods. Permission slips to feel. The acceptance of a faceless beast. And if we could. Writer's would push them away. But elect not to. I've always believed it's because the final page of a mood in motion. Is art. That would've been kept inside the heart beats of a living imagination. If being in a mood. Didn't surface to reality level. So... when someone tells me, "I'm not in the mood." The writer steps back. To study. To view from a slanted curve. The presence of a body, mind and soul. So selfish to be so protective. Of their art. Into their eyes I do stare. Searching for the key. To open the door. For if I feel there's art in there. My moods of multiple shapes and sizes are professionally trained to truly make you upset. So that I can have access to the art you keep hidden from the world.