They call us tortured artists
the souls separated by the barrier of Feel
They call us tortured artists because we see
far more than humans should--
Our eyes of oceans and earth are
wrought with the hurt and empty hope
putting cracks in God’s human’s hearts.
We paint the earth not in hues of indigo and scarlet,
but in shades of jealousy, hurt, and happy.
They call us tortured artists because our hands speak for our hearts
but our lips paint only silence.
We see the mountains of grief and canyons of love,
wielding paintbrushes, we try to smear the butterflies of life
on a canvas of snow. But it’s flat.
Our art is but chicken scratches in comparison
to the masterpieces painted by God--
and only we can see it.
We are tortured
We are raw
We are human x100
We try to paint what we feel
but we feel the whole universe.