i
Our talents were exceptional, and invisible
Deviant in our lack of public merit
Or civic utility, we were paranoid
Maybe suffering from delusions of grandeur
It was expected, our heroine was art
Photography, poetry, music, painting
ii
We were illiterate in living
But so full of life, so wide open with love
Our circumstances were humble
Our personalities sensitive, we had
The potential to become martyrs & lonely
Our class was a privilege in knowing
How to suffer, suffer embarrassment, learn humility
Empathy, by possessing nothing
iii
But the faint property of our own creative genius
Our families may not have spoken openly
About our sickness, of our obsession with
The search for beauty, for our sequence
Of originality, we were broken, unable to earn
A pit-bull’s living, to be a good rat
iv
Our infatuations felt as beacons of our muse
Our drug was as dangerous, bi-polar birthright
Born creative, our life-expectancy was lowered
We who don’t drink, might still sure like the dark continent
Known as chocolate, anything to keep us up at night
Registering the failings that make us whole
Discovering the first love that could not die.
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/painting-76736088