Joe K.

My writing is like a confusing piece of art. It is seen in its truest sense in the eyes of only one, its creator. While others find that my writing is just random thoughts placed together on a piece of paper, I see it as a coalition of ideas that have been trapped in my head until I could present a suitable canvas. Like Vincent Van Gogh, my art is confusing to many and beautiful to those few who can understand it. At some points, even I can’t be sure of what it is I was thinking whilst I was writing. Nevertheless, I write because I have to, and it doesn’t always make sense to most because of that. Perhaps someday I’ll be able to write something intelligent and creative, something that anybody could understand or relate to. Until that day, I’ll write what makes sense to me. Until then, I'll keep painting my own Starry Sky.