The Artist's Body

The Artist’s Body

Look at my hands.
The long slashes, the fresh wounds,
A rainbow of cuts decorating my palms,
My skills leave scars of green, blue and red.
The paint taints my hands with scars.

Look at my feet.
My bound, locked, chained feet.
But I still express my feelings,
I love my chained feet, they allow me
To dance my emotions through my shoes.

Look at my fingers.
The long, worn ropes called fingers.
My essentials are calloused, are used,
But they let me play.
They are the power of my instrument.

Look at my mind,
My mind’s raw, dug-up, looked-through.
Like a dictionary, I reference, search, and check
But this is the foundation of it all,
Of my art, my writing, my masterpiece.