As I write my journal today,
I recalled how art is evident in our lives.
Trying and learning new things comes at a cost.
You sacrifice your sleep,
Sometimes the one thing you enjoy the most,
At the end of the day you are happy,
Happy that you accomplished something on that day.
You feel the need to be seen and heard,
But always ends up being misunderstood and misheard.
The praise from others is a treat you enjoyed the most.
But when it came to the day,
The day that you realized,
That nothing matters,
No opinions and sacrifices.
Because at the end, we all are art.
Art of broken pieces threaded together,
Like a macrame pattern,
Sewn with red stains of blood and syringes,
Lying in the hospital bed,
Waiting for the last call from the angel.
And you are truly happy at that moment,
Because you have been a true art,
True art of strength,
Who struggled through a rollercoaster,
The rollercoaster called the life.
And all these demons in your head,
Is it worth it?