I’m thinking about the tension between being an artist
And needing to make money,
And how I divide myself in pieces over this;
As if in loving one
The other becomes the enemy.
It would be easier if only one survived;
Then I would know which to root for,
Who to talk about in snarling tones,
Or what to leave behind at the water cooler.
Maybe like the trees on both sides of the pond,
In the reflection that comes between them
They proclaim a way
To be.
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