To the missing Art in my Life

My existence was defined to:

My timidity,

My anxiety,

My near perfect grades,

My inclination affliction for math and science

Go to a "good college"

A talking point from one parent to another.

What parents think of their children

Is what causes them to think they are only those things

To focus on one side of life is not existing,

It is surviving.

To exist

Without ART, without a taste of Kahlo and O'Keefe,

Monet and Manet,

Van Gogh and Rembrandt

One does not know how to  live through the heart.

The guilt one feels because it starts as a feeling, not started in the brain,

But in the heart.

A non-productive feeling that invokes thought,

My thought, my interpretation, my definition.

[no one has asked these of me before]

To exist

Without ART, my father,

my existence came to just be

To live without my father, to live without ART, 

I have been surviving to fill in a missing piece of my life.

To have a definition of me,

Is a catch-22.

A definition is without change, no leeway as who I am supposed to be.

I am constantly changing myself, constantly living.

I am Daniella,