I wrote this poem in the fall of 2002…I guess my artistic recovery has been a long time coming…
I used to be a writer
Telling stories of love and adventure, comedy and tragedy
I used be a poet
Doodling on napkins and in the margins of long overdue homework
I used to be an artist
Drawing the faces of of those I had yet to meet
And imprinting forever the life I had led
I used to be a singer, a dancer, a composer of music
A designer of clothes
I used to be an activist
Leading the masses to a better world
Creating solutions for sustainable change
I used to play under the light of the full moon
And whisper to the elves living in the understory of the forest
I used to embrace my gifts
By sharing them with the world
I used to be willing to die for my beliefs
I used to find comfort in knowing who I was
And living my dreams
The Perpetual Vagabond 
I know this was posted ages ago, but I have just found it. it is a beautiful poem and i know how you felt (or maybe still) feel because I feel it too. And this is just what is so good about Art and poetry in particular…it resonates and therefore connects us. Thank you!
Thank you for reading! I think I’ve come a long way since writing this, but it’s always a reminder that the artist inside can be stifled by the responsibilities and events in life. This helps remind me to remember my true self 🙂