our existence
is placed in such an awkward position.
you never look at yourself,
until other people truly see you.
your mothers gleaming eyes sink your heart,
as you stand with your head held to the kitchen counter.
you suddenly feel like a stranger, in your own home
in such an awkward position.
standing in front of bathroom doors that have lit bombs, wounded many.
you stand suddenly as a criminal
in the middle of an awkward position.
having to correct someone when they use the wrong pronouns and you're heart races and the only thing your existence feels
is awkward.
life in the middle of a political battlefield
is drafting dysphoria between sides of yourself.
but,
someday you will find yourself in the lines of someone else's hands.
beauty is reflected in her eyes when she looks at you.
as we lay curled together,
neck bent, and limbs unendingly tangled,
I have never been happier
in such
awkward positions.

I hear the wave
to discover one
beneath my skin

Beauty is subjective.
Art is at the pillar of human sanity.
If men were not able to find beauty in life,
Would we know the meaning of ugly? Or sin?
Beauty is breathing, constantly being undressed in the glow of a lovers light.
It hides but it is constantly visible.
We know the beauty of a flower but not the beauty of a soul?
We were built on the backbone
Of beauty.
We were built with the emotional ability to let our minds wander
In the nirvana that is what we perceive to be beautiful.
Is art not what we create, but what creates us?