Thinking

To be a painter, a poet;
Compared to a teacher, a dentist, a butcher,
I am invisible.
Listening to the cars, the clock, the pen scribbling on paper,
A strange life this is.
I have no framed testimonials from academia,
Source of weary diseases.
I thank my grandfather for great legs, blue eyes,
And the audacity to go my own way.
I thank my grandmother for loving all of the children on the subway.
For simply loving me.