Something to Say

I hung my art upon the wall, a series of lines in graphite.
I stood back slowly comparing myself, to others here in the lime light.
Yes it was good, just as it should, showcasing myself so nicely.
But what of these scowls these grimacing cows, this contest, it seems so pricey.

I sat in my seat struck by the beat, so fast paced and yet shockingly dull.
at my shoulder he sat, adjusted his hat, and cleared throat within the lul.
"Have you something to say?" he asked me. "What do you mean?" I responded quite kirt.
"Why have you come here? Why do you draw?" he clarified for what is was worth.

"I just don't know how to say it." "That's not what I asked" he replied.
"I have something to say and I'll say it someday, but fingers seem tied at the moment."
"Then say it you must, and you'll say it I trust" he said with hope in his voice.
I pulled out each pin and started to grin, for I now had a staggering choice.

After a critique in my drawing class today my teacher turned to me and asked if I had something to say.  I hesitated wondering if he wanted me to defend my work.  I told him that I didn't know what he meant.  He clarified that he wanted to know if I had something to tell the world through my art, he wanted to know if there was any of me in these pieces or if they were completely devoid of communication.  I told him that I am unsure of how to say it.  He said that is not what he asked.  He repeated the question and I told him that yes I do have something to say.  He said good, and that he has seen it, but he wants to see it more.  I sat there for a moment wondering upon the things that he had said.   Curious, I thought. Curious.