I do not think I can exactly declare
My source of inspiration
Like sticking a pin on a map.

A map unfolds
Wider than the car:
It’s impossible to fully
Understand and interpret,
The red and blue ink stamped markings,
Expanding out like veins.

Inspiration, it settles in the creases of the paper,
Or the family photos stashed away
From the last family vacation,
Before Grandma died.

Time and places change,
Along with my identity.
Inspiration dances in the unknown
And the familiar.
I am intrigued by the word choices,
Imagery used in life.

I come so close to inspiration,
But I still can never pin it down.
Maybe that is a sign,
I am placed in a never ending path
To try and capture and define it.
I find no value in that though.
I prefer to use inspiration to define myself
As I often let color and paint
Take over, and I empty my mind on the canvas.
Or other times my fingers
Run around on the keyboard
And I leave with a poem.