Whatever the world decides to throw at you, make something out of it. Make art.
I would put my lips to your canvas, taste where the sweat dripped from the paintbrush, and the thick, metallic earthiness of your skin.
You touch me and everything is strawberry and piña coladas, my taste buds favor the sweet side of things. I make floral arrangements out of nerves every time you look at me.
“The sea’s depth can be predicted, but no one can know what’s in someone’s heart.”
And not just because she’s a subpar singer who is making loads of money from the occupation of being a pretty white girl in America.
It hits me while I’m walking home;
I haven’t spent more than a day with you in two years.
Get a book and dive into it, whatever type of book it is. Really read the words, let them resonate in your skull. Contemplate what they mean, imagine yourself as the character.
They deserve the right to hold their heads high, own their work, and smile about their art without fearing judgment or mockery. Because that judgment and mockery is most likely coming from within themselves rather than anyone outside.
Dia has multiple floors to explore with some enormous rooms filled with soft, natural light while other rooms are darker to highlight their array of light installations.
If my commitment to my work makes me single and unapproachable, then I’ll remain single and unapproachable.