Why do you paint your face?
What is the use of it all–
especially when you are stuck in India
staring into a camera, with a smile.
Words can mean nothing.
I am so far behind you.
Where did you buy your wisdom, and your big words?
Is there a prerequisite.
I try to remind myself it is just for fun,
but I have all of these dreams fuming inside of me.
Leaping out of me when least expected.
Who would think of creating the lamps
that really work on canvas, and a table setting–
that you can hang up.
Why do they come to me with these crazy ideas
that I cannot afford, and do not know where to begin
to execute.
What if I was given the space.
What if I gave MYSELF the space,               
to do these things.
I would have a half dozen unfinished projects.
I suppose I should start small and slow.
But it doesn’t help that a piece of me
wants to have an all out art and creativity
massacre-carnival-explosion-war-
and I want you to look at it all when it’s done.
I want you to look at it and see it.
Why? So that I can prove it exists?
So I can prove to myself that I exist?
Why do you paint your face?

~Jenny Miller