Starving Artists

Two Artists communed on a subway platform.
We broke bread, drank wine.
Sent praises to the almighty Gods for off schedule train times.
I shared Hip Hop. He gave contemporary in return. We lived Poetry.

Two Artists made Love on a subway platform.
Art was the bed. I laid words down as if it were my first rhyme.

I was shy, apprehensive, fear filled due to the consequences of seeing a Artist with a salt and pepper umbrella living Free Will forever.
He respectfully called me Beautiful.
I told him he wasn’t too bad himself.

We laughed. We broke barriers. Color lines were not erased; they were never noticed.
Still unaware of the tone in his complexion, but his hair…

was superbly untamed.

We shared ourselves on a subway platform.
I was a blushing purple pen with black ink.
He was a guitar pick. He made the sound. I created the letter.

They call us starving Artists and yet there is nothing more than what I have that I am in need of. May I share even?

– Hrsh Reyalitee


3 comments on “Starving Artists

  1. Excellent! Some of the best, emotion-stemmed poetry I’ve come across in quite some time! Great personifications–I can tell you write from your heart & feelings (so do I), I know because I felt it! Major props sista!

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