This poem was written by W. Weaselhausen about that ache familiar to all artists- when you doubt yourself and your abilities. When this feeling sets in there are two options: keep going no matter what, or give up and get a real job. But even in a so-called 'career,' art continues to lure with the promise of eternal beauty, and lives in your soul.
It's getting harder to be the person
That I hungered so long to become,
And now there's only one thing I know for certain-
The smoke will clear when all's said and done.
Brainwashed, we will fall back in line,
Waving goodbye to silly teenage dreams.
And excitement seems impossible to define
Whilst society pulls at our broken seams.
Yet, polaroid pictures still age and fade
As the world gets lined and grey,
Wish-me-wells wash away with summer spells,
And sunset swallows the last crumbs of day.