As I may have mentioned once or thrice, I suck at art. And the thought of doing art therapy leaves me feeling cold and slightly nauseated. However, it is also true the art therapist is not only a lovely person, but also a very good therapist. Plus she’s nice to me – and by that I mean, she often lets me write in lieu of drawing. So here’s a few of my art therapy, “works of art”.

Spontaneously produced. Unedited. Raw. Cheerless…


I hear them…




I feel them…




I see them…




I touch them…




I smell them…




I am alone…

I am silent…

The Birthing

The comfort of the carapace

Wrapped tightly



Impervious to the elements

A golden cage around me

Inside feeling protected



A fluid world of comfort

The golden cage has bars

Inhibiting my growth

It cracks

It splinters

The light starts shining through

The air is cold and foreign

It’s hard to breathe it in



The egg is cracked wide open

I feel I’m born anew

Fragile flesh with no protection



The birthing has begun

The loneliest place in the world is being surrounded by people and having no connection. Making small talk. Being courageous. Giving out. Receiving nothing. A total disconnect from the human being. Being is silent. Being is alone. Without connections, who am I? I am surrounded by love – I am lonely. I have all I desire – I am lonely. I have many people – I am lonely. I grew with loneliness – it is a place of familiarity. The veil is drawn around me. Who drew the veil? Who can tear it down? I fear connections. I fear disconnection. I fear. I am alone.

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