Maybe one day you’ll wake up and you’ll find
That you can’t even give your art
That so many people have made art
That there’s too much
And no one has time to sift through the junk
To find your pictures.
But make art, anyway.
Maybe one day you’ll get to your first gig
And the only people there will be
And they’ll be the only ones clapping
When you’re done
And everyone else at the bar, they just
Go back to their drinks.
But make music, anyway.
Maybe one day you’ll write the most moving thing
Ever written, and if anyone ever read it
If they ever found it amongst the one thousand
Thousand, thousand, thousand
Other things that have been written
Like bills and tax returns.
But write beautiful things, anyway.
Because even if the only person you impress at the end is you
It will be