Starving…

The question was “What does being a starving artist feel like?” And the first thing crossed my mind said It’s the insatiable appetite that’s never quite fed The deep thirst of third world hunger Standing right in your face but really round corners Bed time prayers of I only want to live according to my purpose And you said I can be any, I mean everything I want, Though it might not come true Potential locked deep within missed prophetic projections of propaganda in the streets Mass minds institutionalized off synthetic meats Like that mind can’t even have a normal conversation without spitting forth facts Too much to say in too little time so ADHD by society regulations How can you put a price to inspiration To a starving artist, that is alright If the message was to just touch one soul Peaceably laid Every tear shed along the way would be well worth the wait and nights that kept me up writing Just to say, my brother, come what may, I love you My Nubian sisters though the world continually attempts to demoralize you through your temples You will forever be a Me + And + You + Must + NEVER + PART SISTER I’m sorry, to an artist, it’s like your mind is a coded message where every word has endless meanings Dictionary mazes in circular places Grammatical clauses “conducted” into reality Scribble erased deleted sentences aimed for perfection Because I know I only have 3 minutes in front of you I want to infinite every second Starving so clichéd they say it doesn’t even exist Paragraphs of metaphors and words stripped of their origin Showing divinity transcends generations So excuse my sudden change in dialect My people come from many places Being a starving artist is like starving for what most people consider work While I say it’s my passion so I’ll do it for free Even if it means my dreams begin to seem impossible to reach I’ll speak my way through boulders Burden bear every struggle I mean who needs shoulders anyway Knowing there is no greater joice to behold than having a young child say, “I want to talk like that when I get older” I’ll volunteer every hour in your honor There are no job descriptions It’s simply worth it to work it because I’ve been Starving for so long that full now feels empty if I can’t share it with you Have you ever been called someone’s favorite poet? Resonation so loud Griots spring forward Century old greetings of Welcome Children, we’ve been waiting for you Take a seat in what these days are called an audience To an artist The arena looks different yet we facing the same problems I mean how you say I’m starving when people are really dying from hunger Like you want me to talk about BET when HIV in some places is less than 1:63 When chances of certain minorities getting a diploma is less than those getting a GED While those same babies cite trey songz but only know how to sing their ABC’s An artist simply feels like dying to save those degrees This ain’t feeling, it’s breathing This ain’t dreaming, it’s living Since when did we start getting paid for what should be done for free? I can’t tell you what being a starving artist feels like cause I’m just doing what God says to Allowing him to minister to me by passing messages on to you He’s the potter, I’m just the clay He be the army using my tongue to slay You talking poetry while I’m citing prophecy Ain’t no starving in this artistry Cause the journey’s way more fulfilling than the meal It’s the only thing I know how to feel Only in this place can I hear because the rest of the world sounds quiet I ain’t just living for this, I’d die for it.

(c) Nykieria Chaney

#Hunger #HIV #Florida #Starvingartist #Starvation #Malnutrition #Art #God

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© 2017 Nykieria Chaney