My art mimics my life in strange and beautiful ways. Poetry is the medium through witch I understand the otherwise unimaginable. My philosophy and my poetry are so intertwined, even I cannot find the ends and beginnings – this is one such poem. Written well over a year ago now, it grapples with the inherent, compelling nature of art, in which you feel trapped, fated and overcome by the need to explore, express and exemplify the very ticks of art itself…

Stuck to the back of my throat 

You dangle there, taunting 

I’m used to this now of course

My breaths tripping across you

Coughing and gasping at times

It’s become “no big deal”

Even though it really doesn’t feel right


I keep trying to clear my throat

I want to shake you loose 

I want to spit you out 

Still you cling, sticky and slimy

No matter what I do I can’t get rid of you

You’ve changed the way I sound

Everyone is asking if I’m okay


Plunging fingers down my throat 

I’m going to purge you, I have to to breathe

Still, you lubricate my penetration too much

I gag and gag but find no real relief

It seems you might defeat me

I feel you filling up all my spaces

I fear you will take over and I’ll drown


Am I not already drowning?