There are over a hundred ways
To capture a moment,
To freeze time for a split second,
To remember.
Others paint pictures,
Sketch memories.
Art is a good tool for reliving.
You can hear laughter through paint strokes.
You can cringe at the anger pencil marks can so vividly create.
And even subtle color choice
Can send waves,
Tsunamis,
Hurricanes,
That will wash
every last trace you have of today
And push
you back so deep into yesterday.
Art is an illusion.
But my sister liked to take photographs.
She was able to grasp with two hands
That maybe cameras
aren't too different from paint brushes.
Capture
Moments.
Capture
Memories.
But while art sheds off illusion,
There was something
Terrifying
Hair-raising
Heart-pumping
about the wholeness
of reality
photographs blew.
My sister captured images of me.
And even if you could see me
Laughing,
Snorting,
Wallowing in every form of happiness,
My sister could never really capture
me.
Something always seemed to
Go beyond the frame.
Photographs showed the world
The way I like to twirl in summer dresses
Or the way my hair looked like tumbleweed whenever it decided to imitate the wind
Or how I was always more comfortable smiling
With teeth.
If you stare hard enough,
You'd see that, yes,
I am an ugly laugher,
And the
Awkwardness
of my buck teeth flying everywhere
would distract you
From what I was laughing at.
Photographs are not the bigger picture.
Photographs can't show you
how I love indie music
Or how not-so-great I am at playing the ukulele
Or how I always save homework for later.

Seeing is believing, they say.
But don't ever
Not even for a second
Accept me
Wholeheartedly
With arms wide open
For who you see in the photograph.