Am I Art?

I know I breathe art, but am I it? I recognize art everywhere— in everything, in all possible forms, from the finality of death to the joy of life, from the atoms' numbers to the space between particles. In the chaos that creates everything in this universe God must be an artist. God must be as dramatic as the sea. Ever changing and never stopping, and she must be art as well. For who could create such magnificence without being art itself? And the abstract concept changes and shifts, because if she is art, then what am I? If she created me? Am I art only because she has decreed so? Or because I choose to be? Is my only validation the one that God gives? Should that thought make me happy? Sad? Or even, wonder, because if she has said I am to be art, without ever doing something else to deserve being art? How could I ever let myself be it? (I need validation to feel like I am art) I need my own validation to embrace being art, because otherwise, I’ll never accept myself as art, I’ll always question myself as art, and nothing will ever be enough. MY ego will always be there, and art, shall remain, but, empty, void of any chaos that makes the earth tremble, that makes the sea roar, that makes the sky shine with lightning. And I do not want that. For if I am as much a piece of art as God created me. Then I want to rally in the skies, I want to fly in the freezing heavens, and burn at the core of hell. I want to feel the scorch of living, the pain and the tears of breathing, because it means that I am alive. It means that the art I have become will let the world burn, and laugh as it does, because I am art as much as she created me, as much as I created me.