As a creative person, I decided long ago that I wouldn’t suffer anything for it, except for small frustrations. I am no master and yet this isn’t patently obvious to others. The only mountain created by satisfying my artistic urges is the one that consists of everything I’ve tossed away.
murky catapult
hesitates longingly, monk
hesitates, bawdy
saxophone shakes, bright
ladybug wailing, praying
fearlesslessly nearing*
*I changed some of the words.