A Poem about the pain of being an artist and the beauty of art that rises above it all.

This poem is produced from shame and pain that others may gain suit. As in the past people judged artists with such a myopic view that they missed the beauty of the art itself. They missed the beauty of the human form. It doesn’t matter if the object is an angel, heavenly, or an escort, to me it is life at…



I don’t have the answer, but I have experiences and would like to share them with you, but will you share yours with me?

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Lucy Socha

I am a 3x top writer in Writing, Poetry, and Love. I enjoy writing and the arts. Subscribe to: https://lsocha2018.medium.com