I haven’t written a poem in a while,
and my biggest fear is that one day I will stop being art.
I will stop being alliteration written in genetic code,
Tumultuous tongue and effortless calm met together in beautiful cacophony,
Skin painted on a canvas of soul,
The precipitation of tears swollen in emotion but never fallen.
I worry that if I let my art sit too long that it will grow stale
That I will forget to be, forget what it once was.
That my body will become a wonted temple.
I don’t know what I look like without being art, and
So in fear, I let myself wallow in this idea of maybe not, but the reality is that there is no not.
I always am, always have been art.
And I can never forget that for the life of me.