And someone asked me, "What do you do?"

"I am an artist.

I starve.

I break my own heart to see what's inside it."

Because some people have to know

How it feels to have

A little taste

Of respect and glamour,

The university departments of business and law

Sometimes require

Their students to dress 

In the elegant attire

Of esquires,

Suits and ties.

But I long to taste the nothingness of beauty,

Of formidable architecture and aetherical wine,

Sculptures of marble from times immemorial,

Of god's and heroes,

The fait accompli of Van Gogh,

The chiseled lines of Emily Dickinson.

And so I starve.

I break my own heart,

And make my own art,

And someone has asked me,

"Now what is is you do, again?"

"I starve," I said.

-jenn