#currents you create

[currents-you-create]

Original acrylic painting: Marina Diamandis.

[currents-you-create]

Original stencil painting: Serj Tankian

[currents-you-create]

Original acrylic painting: Lady Gaga

[currents-you-create]

Original painting: Kanye West

[currents-you-create]

IMPORTANT NEWS: I'M WRITING A BOOK

I have not been posting on this page lately, but I hope to use this as a platform to post updates on an idea that has been brewing for a few months.

I was incredibly inspired by Rupi Kaur (Milk and Honey) and I have decided that by September 2019 I want to write and illustrate at least one book of my own poems. They will all have a common theme.

I'm very hopeful of this project that I started a few months ago. Updates to come!!

Follow me on Instagram @ currents_you_create where I will be posting all of my updates as well as my art.

[currents-you-create]

Available Light (Stolen First Line)

I’ll tell you who I write for; My lovers. The men whose arms pull me in’ When I’m far away. Whose thoughts I infect In the nightly hours. Whose fingers tangle in mine, And in my hair. Whose scent lingers on my sheets, And on my clothes. Whose hands, eyes and veins’ Have become my unending muse. Who makes me laugh, cry. And wish for the day to be over, And hope to see another sunrise. Who say they love me, No matter how true their words are. I’ll tell you who I write for; The parts of me I hide. Pushed down deep inside of me, Locked away in a safe, Where they cannot get out Until my fingers grace the spindle, Entering in the code. Those parts of me don’t wait until I’ve entered in the last digit, Before crowding at the door, Trying to push it open. I’ll tell you who I write for; My depression. That endless cycle of worthlessness’ And doubt. My inability to get out of bed, And the desire to just do something, That lacks motivation. The neglected hygiene, That ferments as the day passes by. The messy room Where glasses and dirty clothes Lay scattered And go missing. I’ll tell you who I write for; Me. Just a struggling girl, Who needed someone to listen. A neglected child, That was less than disposable. A person who was thrown away, And the only thing that would listen, Were the pieces of paper, Covered in words Of anxiety and sadness; Sadness I could not describe With mere words. A lost soul, Longing for a companion, But left in the dark.

[currents-you-create]

I am not like you.

I am not desperate to recreate

My childhood,

Or reminisce on the days

Where the only thing stronger than my dad

Was my imagination.

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I wrote this poem addressed to my sister in law, because she thinks I'm "different" than her and my husband. I grew up very differently than she did, but that doesn't mean I can't or don't love my husband.

[currents-you-create]

I don't know why I always feel more depressed when I'm doing something to keep my mind off my depression.

Maybe I have become friends with this shadow behind me, and I've gotten so attached that I can't live without it.