Daily struggles and sleepless nights,
These form part of an artist’s life.
A never-ending duel between dreams and self-doubt;
Battles with one’s own mind are those of the worst kind.
Of all your inner demons,
Self-doubt always seems to hit the hardest
As it tells you your dream could never come true
In an attempt to convince you to simply disregard it.
But if your dream should hold on long enough in a fight,
Then you would eventually come to your greatest realization:
That art is not merely entertainment, but in itself creation.
Creation of worlds for others and self to get lost in.
Realize that art is escape, art is hope, art is peace.
A piece of one’s soul offered to appease another’s heart,
Who would seek peace of mind from their own personal fight.
And that art is the use of one’s body through which you’d reach another’s soul.
Realize that art exists in order to make life whole.
That, even in doubt, art should flourish.
That art is freedom and you, in that moment, are liberator.
That art in itself is purpose, and you, creator.
— I.I.
And share the poem if you liked it.
Here’s a pic of the original poem, written between 2015 and 2018 (I really should date these):
Read this poem next if you haven’t already:
Stranger | from the archives
I’m scared of what you’ll notice next if you care to read between the lines.