“The art of harvesting pain – poetry.”

I feel too much and I fall in love with words – poet.

Brave soul, you will survive it all.

With him, the tides the moon, and life itself lost their spell over her.

Some nights I wish I could slip into her skin and wear her flesh only to feel his touch.

And you broke me in all the ways I loved you.

She’s a daughter of the healers in Salem and even tho her wings are scorched she still chooses to do good.

I cannot tell if it is a blessing from an old god or lovely dark art only that he holds my heart.

And you will always be my most beautiful someone.

And his rough hands upon my porcelain skin had me howling at the moon.

And every time I care I die a little.

There are parts of me that beg him to devour all of me.

Poetry is not a cure for sadness but it makes the pain bearable.

I’m laying bare still untouched by the hands I crave completely taken by words.

You didn’t need to make her cuts this deep.

She dances barefoot through the smoke upon ashes from a broken world  – she is hope.

A loving reminder at least we are lonely together.

The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.

My philosophy is that I’m an artist. I perform an art not with a paint brush or a camera. I perform with bodily movement. Instead of exhibiting my art in a museum or a book or on canvas, I exhibit my art in front of the multitudes.

We must link Azamgarh to art and culture and not with terrorism and crime.

Fashion is everything. Art, music, furniture design, graphic design, hair, makeup, architecture, the way cars look – all those things go together to make a moment in time, and that’s what excites me.

I have no purpose. I’m just light and art and love.

The bed was the canvas, we were the art.

Sunsets, my love, are just abstract paintings of your eyes.

A lot of country music is sad. I think most art comes out of poverty and hard times. It applies to music. Three chords and the truth – that’s what a country song is. There is a lot of heartache in the world.