This is a poem I wrote a long time ago, and it seemed like an apt way to kick off the blog. (I did warn you about the poetry.) And this painting is an old one as well, but I still like it. I remember admiring the way the many coloured wax entwined and gleamed in the dusk of a rainy summer's day.
There is a stranger inside of me
Who's idealistic, dreamy and doesn't care for conformity,
There is a stranger inside of me,
Who dreams big dreams of impossibility.
The stranger always believes she can,
And tries to carry out every glorious plan,
She believes in standing up for what's right,
Even if it means an enormous fight!
She believes that every stranger she's met,
Is only a friend she hasn't been introduced to yet,
She even believes in singing in the summer sun,
And dancing in the rain - she thinks that's fun!
But I feel she's a little wild,
She has to grow up, she's not a child,
Practicality is Real, Idealism means Pain,
And you might catch cold if you dance in the Rain!
I quell her sternly, "Do as I say,
Things do not always happen the Right Way."
Sometimes she's cowed and doesn't put up a fight,
And on those days I feel nothing goes Right!
Some days she wins and talks in spite of me,
Those days I might seem optimistic, eager and a little crazy,
But the days I'm happiest and have the most fun,
Are the days the Stranger and I are One!