Restless Stillness Rebecca Thompson

by Rebecca Thompson

From within, my art is born,
A reflection of thoughts and feelings are torn,
Through daily storms inside my head,
My mind is lost, where it fears just emptiness.  

I think too much, yet nothing comes—
No ideas, no inspiration, just silent pictures,
An empty space, a blank stare,
A mind suspended in the thin air.

My bed, my safety, is where I exist,
A safe place, yet a prison cell where I try rest,
Here I cry, I hurt, I feel, and dream,
In quiet moments, torn by the in-between.

Each drawing captures my restless mind,
A ceiling stare, a view confined,
My scattered thoughts, in grids once neat,
Now break apart before the eye.

Liminal, this space of doubt,
Where clarity is nothing but shut out,
I lose myself in this journey of thought,
Where nothing feels right, but all disrupted.

My bed, the place where I mould my figure,
But also where I’m fragile and wrong,
A tangled mess, my sheets reveal,
Are the raw emotions that I conceal.

No answers come, no paths unfold,
In this space, I my mind has no control,
By what I do not, cannot know—
This work, is my mind’s own ebb and flow.