you are the fruit on the table,
but I am the artist.
I take what you are, and
enhance. not just red no,
I give you white, green,
add the sun, the shadows,
the streaks. make the fruit,
more than itself.

you are the subject,
but honey I am the painter.
everyone knows,
a masterpiece,
never makes themselves.

My mind cannot stay peaceful
When you keep pushing back our time
My heart races more
Fears continuously climb.

My stomach sits uneasy,
My heart heavy in my chest,
You know, this isn't the first time
You're proving to be just like the rest

It's the same lullaby's whispered so sweetly in my ear,
Telling me just about every word I've ever wished to hear,
But please darling, tell me
How long do you evade those you claim most dear?

the beauty that is more than skin deep
is the beauty of her ocean eyes
that swell and sway
and open to raw divine innateness .
Beauty is in her gentle steady hand and in her open smile.
in the depths of her buoyed soul
so full it leaks from the cracks in her rib cage
onto the pages of her skin
leaving every bit of her heart on her sleeve on purpose.
feminine and imperfect
pink and smudged  
open and raw
beauty is more than skin
take a look within yourself
look at your mother
your cousin
she is loveliness
exterior beauty is bliss,
but a kind soul is wonderful

are we, yet we use our two eyes like canes
tap-tap-tapping the ground of our being
to see by echo-location
what our blind god does not:
differences

for, the non-seeing, ever-feeling, all-surrounding

One
With
Love

has no eyes for anything but
what we are:
sameness
and filters nought, nor
turns away,
nor stumbles about looking for
nothing real
to worship

for, the all-seeing is Love and
the all-feeling is Love and
the all-encompassing is Love and

blind to all else


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater