Sorry, not sorry, but I am an artist now!

A purple cloud took on a life of it's own.

And as I analyze my thoughts and actions in these moments, I wonder, "Is this really productive? Is this really helping me? or am I just feeding crazy?"
Truthfully; I don't think I care. I am enjoying this writing journey, and I am enjoying the painting portions too.
So maybe I will chase that dream for awhile. Pretend I am an artist of words and paint. An author and an illustrator. Writing for my life, Painting for my pain.
And I can chase the dream more fervently, without fear of rejection, because I already know that
I am not an artist.
Maybe here the rejection won't hurt so bad, because here, in this space, I know I don't belong and that is what I have to offer.
Diversity.
And the therapy of it all.
Embracing your perfectly imperfect even when others do not.
So chase away
A dream to play
In the field where I don't belong

An intentionalish  painting of an open mind.