top of page
  • Roxanne Noor

Semi Struggling Artists

When she first moved to Berlin

Her new apartment was a hollow barrel

Not one piece of furniture stood

She bought a grand piano before a dining table or bed

She slept in her bathtub for two weeks

A white comforter and no pillow

Until she could afford a mattress

Artists suffer mainly because they prioritize

Art over body, art over mind

She makes music instead of sleeping

No lucid dreams or delta waves

She buys a synthesizer instead of the week’s groceries

No bread and butter

Just Chopin’s Nocturne in E minor

We make choices and choices make us

In the morning, I write at the kitchen counter

Stare at the flushed orchid, delicate and pink

Unaware of its beauty

I wish my effort could be so effortless

She scales the keys of her piano

Squints and sighs

“It is all so purposeless”

She is right

This is the goodness of art

No one point

No end goal

No final station

She won’t play in the Philharmonic

I won’t win a Pulitzer Prize

The only meaning is in the act itself

A feeble attempt to clutch purpose in the purposeless

Her fingers shaping sounds

My fingers forging words


bottom of page