As a Photography Major in college, I took many photo classes and discovered that my most powerful pieces were the the ones that spoke to my soul. These pieces usually incorporated elements of my poetry and they illustrated who I was as a person. I mainly do art for myself, and not so much for others, so I think my friend was right on when he said I was an “artist” and not a “designer.”
The following pieces were part of a project I did in Alternative Photography (if I remember correctly)
Last week I posted about what it meant to be an INTJ personality type and how it affected my emotions (or lack thereof). I thought it would be fitting to post a poem I wrote many years ago that described my emotional capacity.
Emotionless Wall
Blurs of people,
swirls of feelings,
surrounding, engulfing,
suffocating me.
They are laughing,
smiling, joking,
screaming and crying,
burning the streets with passion,
waiting in anticipation,
cowering in fear,
drowning in endless tears,
but they do not move me.
“Her father is dead,”
so I’ve heard.
But hard as I try,
I cannot cry.
Not one single tear
to show that I care…
I want to feel for her,
I want to share her pain,
but I can’t do a thing.
I can’t say a word of comfort,
I can’t say I understand.
Sympathy, empathy…
they are beyond me.
All my emotions
buried deep down inside.
I dig and I pry,
but hard as I try,
I still cannot cry.
I only nod and gaze,
wondering if I’m human,
‘cuz I can’t feel a thing,
not a thing at all,
an emotionless wall.
Are you poetically inclined
to change my mind,
with words and phrases
and changing phases –
Winter, spring, summer, fall,
life, love, sadness and all?
To laugh, to cry,
to laugh and cry,
to fail, to try,
to try and fail.
It’s bittersweet
when nothing remains
as you cringe in pain
in the pounding rain,
bleeding in shame,
wondering what
you had done wrong.
Too short
to find happiness,
long enough
to cherish memories.
Loving pain,
hating love,
needing both.
The oxymoron
where shadows mix
with sunlit rays.
Metaphors and similes
don’t change a thing.
Touch my life.
Yeah, right.
I know the truth,
hidden deeper
and deeper
in my mind,
reflected in
your sparkling eyes,
a heart-shaped
teardrop
above your lips,
whispering words
of comfort,
to cover thoughts
of pain.
Yes, I know.
Are you still
poetically inclined
to change my mind?
Whisperings 