My mind is a work of art.
For the longest time,
it remained hidden in a cellar.
Away from the judging eyes of the world.

It's been put on display, but some pieces are missing.
Being restored and maintained properly.
To repair the effects of time and the elements.
So that it may be enjoyed forever.

It sits in a gallery for everyone to see.
Wanting to be understood by all those who breathe.
Most people stop, glance, and leave,
But a few people stop and do more than just see.

They feel.
They know. They understand.
Or at least try.
They look at the lines and try to see through.
"What is the artist trying to tell you?"