the riddler meets a poet

In living, I am present;
In love, yes I still am;
Never in just a soul existing.
On an empty canvas,
I bury myself,
with vibrant colors
of pens and paint.
Forever
in the middle of novels.
Always
lending ears to vinyls.
I am found in a pit less void,
climbing to the surface,
with nothing but verses.
Who am I?

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