They say I’m foreign to “creatives”,

as though I do not understand.

I am called “other” than “creatives” because I schedule life; I plan.

I work with creatives.

I  help them organize.

I’m praised for “dealing” with creatives.

As if my patience is their prize.

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Little do they know…

The “chasm” set between us isn’t all that great.

The sign of a creative is that they create.

Their mark on this world is that they ignore the gates

that hold all others to an equal, binding, common fate

of a life just half lived, waiting for its death-date;

Empty of all beauty and longing for a taste

of something greater than this life;

to find some meaning in the waste;

to find some hope amidst their strife.

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I am not “other” than creative;

I own the term;

I write.

My art is channeled through how I live;

My pen is firm,

Not trite.


2 thoughts on “If We Breathe, We Create

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