my english paper on using only words with one syllable.

Ink

By Seanne Catedral

Ink is the blood of all art that I make. Ink is what I think of when I see a blank space. When I see a wall that is free, not used for what it’s worth, I think of the drips of ink that I would bomb there to stain it for as long as that wall lives. All thoughts, schemes, plans of what could be, drown me from the rest of what is real. The dreams and thoughts of all these works of art in my head that state my state of mind need to leave me and be placed on all blank space.

I want to catch a tag on all free walls in the world. Give men a gift of deep thought with what comes straight from my mind, through the rest of me and out of my hands. I want to blow your minds, stir your thoughts, and take your breaths. I want to stun you, touch you, bend you, grip you, and shake you. I see the blends of black, white, red, green, blue, and more all in tune as one to please the eye. Lights and darks meet and rare shades are made. To think of all the far-out, mean, and grand things that I’ve seen; it all strikes me and calls me to speak out to change the world in at least one way.

The way that I speak of is art… real art. The kind that moves you to the core so you feel it in your gut. The kind that grabs you by the arms and shakes you ‘til you can’t take it for one more half-ounce of time. The kind that you fall in love with and then breaks your heart, just to come back for more due to your real need of it. The kind that you write a song for and, once done, play out for the rest of the day so that you’re not the lone one to know all the words. The kind that drives you up the wall. The kind that screams to be passed, spread, and to take in deep. Like the word that you heard from a small bird that makes you squeal and you can’t stay still in your seat. These thoughts are what make me. It is in the blood in my veins like the ink that is the blood of each piece.