Shaking

The creative arts are just so hard? Every person who does them are incredible. They need more appreciation.
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Shaking lips lost in words flowing out. A river of letters. You have too much to say. Pages upon pages of words that have lost their meaning, yet you read them all, vison blurring at the edges. Your mind is a churning sea of words and you’re helpless in its fathomless depths. You keep screaming. You keep screaming until your throat burns becuase there are words that need to be set free. Nobody listens, but you know what you are saying. You tuck every scarp of knowledge you can get your hands on into the cobwebs of your mind and keep them for when the world is quiet and you need the words to fill the unforgiving silence.

Shaking hands leave colour on the page. A painting emerges, faint and trembling but it’s there. You think a blank canvas should not exist. A hurricane of colours hurl together like old friends. You search relentlessly for ways to make it perfect but you find no answers. The world around pushes you this way and that. You see everything, and everything you see is spilled carelessly on paper. Every line and shape does not seem the same when poured onto a canvas. You think it doesn’t matter much anyway. A picture always tells a story. You know what the colours mean and perhaps no one else does. Perhaps that is okay. 

Shaking feet dance to a silent symphony. Your breath comes in short bursts. There is not enough air in your lungs. You fight to keep the steel in your spine unbreakable. Tired arms stretch and tired feet jump. You can still hear the melody in your head. You repeat the same movements again and again and again, every step engraved into your very bone. You perform to empty seat, dusty silence, frozen applause. You work your weary limbs until you stand on this phantom stage. The world looks straight past your invisble dance. You raise your head and pencil on a smile. The burn in your feet will not fade.