The Light Within
16 x 20
Professional Grade Oil Pastel and Oil Bar
Professional Grade Soft Pastel Pencils from Holland (Brunzeel)
Professional Grade Colored Pencil (Faber Castelle and Prismacolor )
Professional Oil Pencil
Sennelier Fixative Finish
The Light Within
This is expressionism and surrealism I am not a clean perfect artist. The more I try to keep the pot from spilling the more it spills. I must accept this style in hopes that art enthusiasts also have an understand of the psych and methaphysical components that are very feel able in my work to energy sensitive folks.
The Light Within
She woke up to a land of monochromatic grey fades, whispers of self loathing echoing in her audio tunnels cranially poisoned. It’s been a slow fade, the natural glow in her cheeks being drained slowly in a tortuous manner, enslaved by unknown hatred.
Something Isn’t right
Something isn’t right
The silent pain of soul stealing is one that words can’t conquer .It’s a deception that goes on centuries, like a ticking time bomb. A bomb that erases everything, not just the flesh and the memories of a lifetime. It erases the memories of past incarnations, future incarnations centuries of hard work with pure intentions. It spreads to your guides to the fellow light, oddities away. It almost took us all. And for what?
My hand is broken but maybe people don’t know, as I dance not like me, and I draw not like me, as I don’t look like me, sound like me, finish like me, finishing anything. If I give everything, go everywhere I’m ok right?
No, No I’m not.
It was like vacuums, strings of black on her back, in her scapula, on her brain, on her most sacred parts, everyday she could feel her energy going to another source everyday she said too much tapping into the consciousness of every possible soul that might awaken to her grace. And everyday she pushed herself from her peers and from her own Morales as the information got too tense too close too ethereal, what type A’s think as delusional. She sacrificed her sanity, her grace, her reputation for the sake of an “I know what you're going through.”
No one did. Not completely.Or could separate themselves from their own issues. It honestly wasn’t their duty.
Thoughts of guilt blasted her lobes as her people were going down with her, she gave and gave running on nothing whispers of her lifestyle pushed her down more, her aching lonely heart getting more bruised and ignored as she lost the belief in her self, she lost the belief in her art.
Art became more of an approval, deadline bled her state of relaxation giving everything she could to give the world a taste of the beauty she was losing every ticking second.
Every ticking second she drove her body to the ground for the fear, the fear that she was dying.
And she was.
Sometimes when you open that door of information the knobs weight becomes too much to bare for your hands that turned the door in the first place. She reached to the people that should of been there, she was framed from her psych betrayed by her blood, abandoned by her pack. How could they possibly know what they can’t see, but how can’t they feel what I need?
I can’t die. Not like this. I haven’t done anything worth dying for.
People would compliment her works, as these quick flowing lines were the only thing she could handle strength wise, for the art she really wished to accomplish took a strong mind and her mind was gone in the entrapment of others. She smiled and took the compliments but the hatred of the quality made those kind words powerless for she knew that this wasn’t her art.
But theres something that kept that fly trap going. Inside the woman was a world, a ball we all keep inside of dreams. Of I coulds, I woulds -for her each leech, each stab, bind attempting, lie could not surface and will never penetrate the love for this world. No matter how tired, how insane the gift of knowing who she was and what to do, got her up on the days she could sleep for ever. That was almost every day.
This world is called the Chaos Gate.
Every effort felt like it was going straight down the drain, every effort like water cleansing, rinsing clearing beast after beast as a new dawn brought a new pack of hatred. What could she possible do to attract such an intensity of combined darkness to bring her down?
You really want to know?
The right thing.
What, doesn’t the hero always get the job, the girl, the destiny.
When you choose to suffer for the cause of your soul calling, you are a dessert, a challenge. You are a threat.
For you are the one to surf against the waves, to call bluff, to not give in. You are the one to take a synchronic sadistic manipulation and revert it to the purist state.
The Free State of Mind
In a world of light and dark
Yin and Yang
Good and evil
There isn’t a flow for everyone. But you can always choose. You can choose to look within your bubble. We all have one. She had a bubble. After a day of not being listened to, of being called crazy of getting nowhere paralyzed on unknown fear she would sit and look within this world of burgundy skies, purple clouds the subconscious tears of her fellow neighbors for they were ALL tired. Tired of the same, tired of forgetting we all have choices. We can choose whether to drive a Mercedes or a bike. We can choose to get up at 9 or paint in alleys and eat out of the trash. She chose to fight.
With this secret that rings so obvious to her she had to keep it together. For even if time was draining she could still reach out truth. For if they sensed her physical state ready to be buried 6 feet under how would they every take her seriously.
She carried on. She was on time. She took risks at night, she screamed in the river, covered her body in sage, her pockets of protective stones pleaded for someone to get it, mourned for someone to love and she continued to give love. The leeches ate her heart and they tried to take her faith. She struck back waking, stumbling, shining and they’d come for her light every day.
Happiness came in spurts opportunities led to disappointment with a continuous routine of looking in her bubble on the darkest days.
The Left side of her being appeared face smooth, career and goals on point, dress well, attend this, work your ass off, they will take me seriously they will listen to me they will continue to seek their freedom. Right side smearing, fading , crumbles of her aura dissipating into the dark clouds of the swamp her violators getting fatter by the second.
But that bubble, lets not forget that bubble. I will be ok, I am following my heart, everything I seek is in my reach. Her throat blocked, 30 beings continued to drink he chest completely ripped open all her current protectors fooled by her left side. She laid in bed and prayed, ached barely in tact with her guides for her mind was gone.
She let in the vampires, she let in the angels, the shamans, the clairvoyants, the brainwashed she always knew the truth , tapping any information she could for a lead ,a break, an escape.
And as she sat on the crumbling couch, a bullshit smile within the reality of a body of a failure, an overweight impulsive narcissistic airhead, an artist who couldn’t even draw, dry skin, a spiritual being who could barely even reach the spirits.
A fucking caged bird, raped of everything she held dear and then the galaxies spoke.
You cannot take her.
You will not take her.
We need her.
She Put her hands on me, on my third eye
She put her hands on me along with a room of ethereal beings on my chest my heart my soul my destiny
She put her hands on me on my love and will to dance
He put his hands on me, on my creative aspirations and confidence
He put his hands on me on my gut, my chakras, my powers
She put her hands on my spiritual chords
She took her hands off me and let me fly
You all put your hands on me
And as I laid on that table for the last time my heart blossoming like a lotus a vision struck me most instantly
An eye opened
And there he was, washing his face with a white towel waiting for his wounded butterfly as the blindfold dissipated into past mistakes.
For she was chosen for despair , not because she’s weak but because she’s strong.
And guess what ?
Now as she looks in the mirror her glow getting brighter each day, she continues to look in her bubble not in desperation, but in gratitude. And all there is to do now is fly fueled by The Light Within.
The second piece is:Forgotten Leader
Writing to Forgotten Leader
Re-birthed in a world obsessed with young
Is a soul, oh so old
Iris’s sealed shut
Fore she’s safe between lids deep
Throat dried with exhausted breath
She gasps in graves of dying cypresses
Leaves mourn for mother
She reaches for the mask
Hands swipe in darkness
Searching for nothing
For the mask has been on
Who am I?
Timid eye dried in shattered whips
As she tilts her head down in shame
Her head weighed down by enemy chords
A line of melodic wails hit her drums
Darkness to light
Blinded by herself
A wounded Queen is found
Tears staining her shell
She stands on her own
Heads titled towards the sound
Each melodic beat he throws
and ounce of memory reached
as she floats on his chess board
Rising with her kin
Wounded Queen kneels
Scraped or not a leader none the less
Her smile shines
You have forgotten her
But not forever