How could I become anything else?

This infatuation, as old as my first steps.

This obsession sewn throughout the seams of the fabric of my being.

How could I not be this?

These anchored souvenirs of fascination.

Art and artists splashed into the most vivid and accessible elements of my personality.

How could the world possibly deny me?

It is impossible.

Even when I was nothing, I did this.

When it bled me dry, and barely fed me, I did this.

Had that been the best it would ever be, I would have continued to do this.

Because I’d rather be a starving artist than a well fed prisoner.

But make me a well fed artist…? Well, then…

the world will just have to manage my wake.

I don’t care what anyone else is doing.

I’m here to become the best me I’m capable of becoming, and I mean to do so.