Paper Cuts & Lead Poison

Holding a pencil to a stencil,

Thinking of all my pain inside to create a memoir,

Each line I drew felt like medication to a looney tune,

In my own comfort, away from sounds,

I sit in the chair cold, isolated waiting for a toosh to fill it in,

Paper flat on the table, white, clean, without any wrinkles,

This is my passion to create what is in my mind,

Hear me out through the images I lay down,

Picking up the paper too fast feels like scissors cutting into my hands,

A slit so fast I didn't see it coming,

More pain in the passion I love, only to give me the motivation to be strong,

Every corner ready for a design,

Can this art be my future commodity?

Will my art bring joy to society?

Vocals won't help you understand,

Follow the lines, can you feel the desires?

Here is where I express my depression,

Poetry with art is like a boy band your crazy about,

Have you ever cried while staring into a drawing, painting, or fashion?

It's the emotions you get when it's all in your head,

Did Edward scissor hands say a word when people treated him like a worm?

Stepping on his existence, yet created happiness to the meanest,

They are not weapons when you recycle the violence into usefulness,

Make blood your paint, make scissors your key to success,

Snip Snip is the sound of imperfection,

My happiness is hand-eye coordination,

To make a story that impacts the others complications,

Accepted in art schools, full scholarships to turn my hobby into displays,

I denied the dream because I refused to be a profit to the white-collar,

I do what I love for my soul,

Follow my dream of creativity for free,

This is my happiness to write and draw everything I am feeling,

From scrapbooking to photography,

I have no name only my signatures,

To leave behind my imprint for history.