What is this thing I do?
Trying to paint a picture out of words,
Trying to draw my emotions out,
Trying to explain a feeling.
Where does it come from?
Like a beautiful bubble,
I try to capture it without popping.
Like a wound that needs draining,
I try to relieve the pressure with my pencil.
It flows like blood,
It feeds me and moves me,
It makes me feel real.
There's some deep understanding
Between my heart and my hand,
I just watch it happen.
Like a dream I vaguely remember,
Like a song I used to know,
Like a picture of me as a child,
I cradle the fragments,
And try to recapture