Crayon scrawled on a wall, rainbow colors interwoven. Simplistic, but to the trained eye, each line intersects and a picture is formed. Streaks of oil on canvas, color droplets fall like the tears of a bereaved mother. Spatters and splashes dot the landscape of the canvas, forming what to some is confusion but to others abstract. Metal welded and twisted, intersecting with mortar and stone. Hewn out of raw earth, the stone is cut to let the metal lie in a certain way, while mortar is shaped into the sculpture that to some may appear as the results of a natural disaster. Art is perception as seen through the eyes of the creator of the piece. Some elicits deep emotions, while other creations are not meant to be understood. It is what you think it is, your perception, that is your art.

Stiletto heels and a short tight skirt. Full colored lips just to go to work. Highlights in my hair, and just the right top, cut just low enough to make the right man stop. Lady like poise and the subtle hint of perfume, with a swish in my walk when I enter the room. A presentation that is a feast for the eyes. The object of desire, a note worthy prize. From high school to college its a work in progress, learning how to be seen, it becomes an art. Knowing just what magazines to read, seeing the latest styles is a necessity. Not being to easy but giving up just enough, to make your way to your next goal. That is what we are taught. Though you might wear sweats to bed at night, even going to work out has to be done just right. Showing off the curves in all of the right places, it is the art of selling myself.

I make friends with both dark and light,
everyone is different and special.
No one is left to be judged.
You ask who are these people?
"Who is that with no hands?"
Well let me tell you something,

Scissorhands is my friend;
very original, yet mistreated,
why it's like the people around us.
Judging a book by its cover;
sure that sounds old,
but not if you never learn.

"Left with no hands, why with us?"
Oh everyone is special.
I got a friend with no eyes,
cannot see at all.
Does that make her different?
No not at all.

Am I alone?
No I'm not,
people may call my friends monsters,
though they are not what you think.
Everyone is not the same,
but we shall treat others the same way.
Different is unique,
very creative in all sorts of ways.

So next time you enter my house,
don't point anyone out.
If you don't enjoy their company,
then you shall not come at all.

Late at night is when I think
And try to I clear my head
I often stay awake all night
Just laying in my bed

As soon as I get comfy
Thoughts start racing in
I start to question everything
and regret my every sin

At first the thoughts are gentle
Like what will I do tomorrow
But as time crawls by; they escalate
Till I'm drowning in my sorrow

I think of all my failures
Every detail of what I did wrong
After hours of reliving pain
I convince myself I don't belong

I suddenly feel isolated
and like the silence will never end
I feel like I will never escape
There's too much I just can't mend

I feel overpowered and worthless
Like I'll never do anything right
I hide till the world fades away
And I'm awoken by the light

I realize a new day has come
It's time to put on a brave face
I put those negative thoughts away
Until I return to this place