Too often, those who save us, don’t know they do

it was my art teacher in high school

She said, “You have some good ideas—why don’t you write them down?”

I hung-out in her art class, because it felt like a safe place

I talked endlessly, and drew horrible pictures to amuse myself—all of which were original

Students would file into her classroom and see my paintings or pastels on the wall

“Who drew that?” They would ask.

I was different, and my art reflected the same

I was quiet, everywhere else, and my pictures were loud.

At the end of my Senior year, my art teacher stood-up in front of the school

and said, “Out of all of my students, Andy has the most artistic potential.”

This prophesy has been shattered, time and time, again

like broken mirrors of bad luck

but her level of belief and declaration of faith in me

has given me hope, when there was none.

The things that save us, seldom claim authority over our lives

We discover them, like a friend, that nobody knows

Those bits of ourself that are recognized

are the seeds of dreams

They are dormant, and grow with belief

so flawed

nobody will buy them

until

we sprout into a different kind of tree

and bear

strange fruit.

16 thoughts on “Strange Fruit

  1. Super cool piece, of course we are curious about your art right now (besides poetry)! Are you willing to share with us? Maybe it’s already on you blog. I will check it out some more. Have a great night and greetings from Holland!

    Liked by 1 person

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