Claiming Not

She claims not to be artistic
As she perceives an artist should be
But the blood of creativity
Flows within her, spilling from her soul

She claims not be a painter
Of faces or places or nature's confusion
But the brush of vivid illusion
Is held within her hand

She claims only to be a writer
Of time and rhyme, of muted prose
That falls upon a page composed...
With thoughts and dreams found within

With words she thinks not artistic
Is revealed her heart and soul
Brushed as exquisitely as a painter
Who crafts beauty with colors in hand....
And is this not the true art of a writer
Claiming not the brilliant ink that flows within?