Starving Artist (Poem)Starving Artist (Poem)

By the window, I write…

Where should I start?

Fire burns at the core of every starving artist’s heart.

Hope is planted.

Dreams take root.

They bloom into verses—

verbal evolution.

Each day offers a new chanceto finally eat.

Have you ever looked into the eyes of an artist?

The first time I did,I got lost in another dimension.

It was life.Raw, unfiltered life.

And I get sentimental every time I think about this God-given gift.

Passion runs deep in their gaze,

Flooding their pupils with curiosity—

like a child, wide-eyed at the world.

What can this journey bring?

A starving artist smells like the city—

sizzling sausage from the food truck on the corner,

blended with the tainted scent of ambition,

Exhaust, and late-night hustle.

Every breath is polluted with potential.

Every moment, a new idea.

And they’re not afraid of raw experience.

Thank God for the chance to share words of hope another day.

I’m humbled.

I view the raw, bloody meat of each chance—

fuel to feed my thirsty soul,

killing inhibition.

Fresh opportunity dances in my eyes,

Though fatigue lingers from the grind.

Why, God?

Why did you gift me the desire to spread these words

if I must still starve?

Still…words rise from the soul of a starving artist,

rolling off my lips—

Inhaling experience,

Exhaling rhythm.

I’m still waiting to exhale.

But I still breathe.

Starving Artist (Poem)