Low
April 19, 2008


Low.
Touching the ground.
Below the ground.
Touching the core of Earth.

We sit and write,
perhaps we paint,
but we don’t think anything of ourselves.

Is it conscious?
Do we do it for attention?
Or is it humility?
Do we do it because we’re ashamed?

Works of art produced from children or adults
who were once told they could be nothing in life.
Poetry written by people who were told they were nothing.
Canvases filled with a mosaic by someone told they could never succeed.

That is what we are.
Low.

But we are not low by accomplishments,
but by what others have told us or said of us.

We are not low.

No.

We are not the ones who are low.

We are high,
Higher than those critics who said I could never write,
Higher than those critics who said you could never paint,
Higher than those critics who said art is a waste of time.

We are not low.
They are.