Creatives Are Full Of Themselves

Creatives are full of themselves
Thinking that the art that they birth into the world
can solve the suffering and pain of their fellow man
Thinking that they’re all that and a bag of chips
Not knowing we can see when their egos swell
When the applause goes up and stage lights bloom
But they’re just empty like the rest
Surrounding themselves with others like themselves
Talking creative ideas and creative things
Using their powers to make creative pieces
But outside of their creative bubble
They can’t see what they are
Individuals who think they’re woke
Because they read books and make words dance at will
Thinking they relate to the world and its pain
Trying to use technology to spread messages of love
But they can’t even save themselves
They look at you like an outsider
Someone who doesn’t speak their language in their presence
I see these cliques gather and pay no mind to their surroundings
Comforting themselves as they lay in their own depression
Trying to positive think their way out of the reality
That they constructed themselves
So I say they can go f*ck themselves and their tribe
Because I too have painted my own blood on canvases
Painting living nightmares that haunt my spirit
I too fought demons of depression and loneliness
Taking pills which took away my ability to write
Dreaming of making love to death, and dancing off into eternity
I too am alone, awake at night as the world sleeps like the dead in the grave
But I know the world is cruel as doesn’t deserve my love
Creative are full of themselves
But the world needs more of them
To keep writing pages and letters of love
Creatives maybe be full of themselves
But in them, I can see the glimmer of hope
The spark that is needed for the next generation