When I create characters,
Fragmented bit of my soul have a habit of sticking to the paper.

My dreams bleed into the paper like tiny river veins
And like lungs they breathe life into graphite.

My features reflect off cartridge,
2B pencil eyes like my own and Gouache cheeks like marshmallows.

My fears dissolve as I wash my paintbrush dry,
Living through the motionless snapshot,
Suspended in time.

My ideals splash onto the page like the tears I so viciously cry over my appearance sometimes when my cheeks aren't thin enough.

The confidence I wish I had leaping off the page and the ethereal calm washing over me like watercolours.

All my traits- both goals and real life, bleed into my drawings like tiny river veins,
And turn art into more than just drawing.

7.4.16