Not All Artists and Poets are Sad!


-Not All Artists and Poets are Sad!-

Let me clear this “Renaissance old” story for you.
Not All Artists and Poets are SAD.
Because my brain works in a way that allows me to create, doesn’t make me miserable or mad.
Because I share with you how I feel,
At a distinct moment,
Or night,
does not encompasses, the totality,
Of my entire life.
Because I,
Think better,
Create better,
Write better,
in solitude,
does not mean I am lonely,
‘always’ alone, or in a bad mood.
My Art and Poems expresses nothing “Sad”.
In fact,
I am more passionate,
and somewhat of a sensualist,
…might I add.
Let’s not forget,
Much of my Art is created for kids.
It’s not possible,
for an unhappy person to do this.
I am revolutionizing,                                      All of these old myths,
…that were told to you.
They’re simply not true!
All Art and Poems are not always Blue.

Andrea L’Artiste


Four weeks


I swear to you,
I watched four weeks quietly sneak by.
Tiptoeing across the days,
at a fast pace,
wearing a disguise;
in a Duffle bag, Time.
Looked me straight in the eyes,
…But I couldn’t stop it.
-Andrea L’Artiste copyright 2017

Green eyes


-Green eyes-

I did not tell you to quit,
I did not tell you to stop,
I did not say “Don’t dream big”
You chose to give in,
You decided to flop.
Profusely pissed,
I hear your disdainful hiss,
As you watch me climb the top.

You’re angry at me because you gave up and I did not.

Like a lava cone
About to disrupt,
The hate makes you ill,
No Will,
to conceal,
The jealous and envy,
that oozes from your gut.

You’re angry at me because “half empty” you left your cup…

And I chose to fill mine up.

-Andrea L’Artiste copyright 2017




I decided to write you a little note.
I know,
I’m not the mushy type.
I’m sure this may come as a surprise.
But that night on the sofa,
In November,
I looked into your eyes.
You looked into mine,
We were like
In time.
It felt as if,
We drifted together,
To a place that only granted access
To us.
A place where we could simply
Express our love.
Without saying a word.
In that moment,
I was cleared.
All of my Troubles,
And Worries,
Had all Disappeared.
My mind was at ease,
And My heart,
…was pleased.
In that moment,
I knew,
That I was finally free.
In that moment,
I knew,
There was nowhere,
And with No one else
I wanted to be.
But with you,
Embracing Love.

The enslaved mind


The Enslaved mind,
Will escape some day.
It’ll find a hole in the wall,
A crack in the window,
A flaw in the gate.
The enslaved mind does not know it is captured,
It doesn’t feel the invisible chains, the ropes or the shackles.
The bricks that are used as weights to keep it from ascending
Paralyzed, pinned, like a footprint trapped in concrete, cemented.
The enslaved mind, doesn’t see anything wrong.
Everything is right.
The Sunday worship, tithes to the Pastor,
Prayers to its God,
Morning, noon, and night.
Who are you worshipping?
The question asked of curiosity,
Is it the one who cannot, or ‘unwilling’ to prevent atrocities?
But the enslaved mind is incapable of explaining its faith,
Ask it to describe its God, and the response is,
All seeing, All knowing, the one who creates.
The one who blesses me, and wakes me in the morning.
Is it the same one who kills 9 million children each year? (Isaiah 45:7)
Some with cancers, and some with no warning?
Or is it the one you still have not seen?
Not in your home, your car, your church, not even in your dreams.
The enslaved mind will create illusions. It doesn’t realize the real lies, it was programmed to do this. -Andrea L’Artiste copyright