Photo prompt at Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers
When I was a child I drew on the walls.
My father bound my hands so I would remember he said no.
But the artist’s spirit can’t be bound. Doodling became my thing, until the teacher shut that down.
Words and pictures seeped from the seams of my being.
I learned the power of a spray can and the streets were decked with my
ugly scrawls shouting my rebellion until my voice longed for better.
A paint brush, the side of a building, recognized and commissioned.
“Show the people there is another world where kindness and respect shine as beacons”.
Leave a Reply