The Artist By Jhantu Randall Staff Writer & Contributing Poet Traveling in my wayward mind searching for what’s clear A place once muddled with sinking doubt powering crippling fear. What’s in a name? Today I walk away The sun’s brightness cleanses dirty deeds; Healing internally from wounds the world will never see. Still I stay silent when it comes to any meaningful discussion focused on me Far from nervous, Just blocking unexplained pain from ever reaching the surface. Happy is a place I’ve been But all that was tied to the environment. I admit it’s difficult dealing with the day to day, Lately I wished some things would’ve stayed If this is the life we live this must be the price I pay. Smiling fully seeing what I thought was solid suddenly pulled away Self-proclaimed martyr who knows others have it worse than me. I think if things played out different would I still be a similar me? Like what if I was never chosen and I dug in the trash for something to eat Would I be a pawn or someone to refuse’s defeat without missing a beat I carry on. In a place of hopeful dreams but the drinks are all gone. I step to the mic, set up, getting ready to speak If this is the peak let my voice raise me from any trap perceived. Free from any sense of captivity, Coming full circle it ends and starts again Nothing is safe from the artists masterful pen.