You are such an artwork

As much as you think I’m a good writer/ artist, I think probably not because sometimes I think if I could, I’d write you all the poetry in the world and if I could, I’d write original songs and sing them to you and if I could, I’d use my hands to paint us together or paint the handsome man I see before me. But sometimes I think maybe I’m not “good” because I compare my work to others and that’s no good either. Sometimes within my own words and my own simple vocabulary I can still show you how I feel. I can still express myself to you. I feel so much for you and I can’t seem to explain it. So just like my work, I’m not the best looking or the best person because that would imply I’m perfect and I’m not. But what I find even more interesting is that true art isn’t beautiful. It’s chaotic and more to it than its physical appearance, it has meaning behind every stroke of paint, it has meaning between every line of poetry. So in this bad poem I’m the artwork and your the person looking at it. You’re seeing past the physical and you’re getting to know the meaning and its value. And for that I’m glad you’re still with me. You’re still observant because not everyone can look at a piece of art and dismantle its meaning. Not everyone and clearly you’re not everyone as I can see. You’re someone and that someone decided to invest in this artwork. Something made you take me to your home, your heart. Thank you for investing your time in me.

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