you are a work of art to me.
masterpiece soul.
watercolor tears.
bone structure a meticulously crafted sculpture.
brush stroke hair imperfectly contrived.
calligraphy dripping inked words.
musical melodious voice.
filmography flashes within your eyes.
i wish i could frame you as i see you…
displaying the beauty that that i see…
for you and all to see...

I am forgiving myself
and aware enough to know there are pieces of me still in need of healing
and for a while I would've hesitated to let you in for the fear that I'm not good enough yet
isn't that life, though?
aren't we all just trying to find ways around our brokenness?
to wake up with love for all the fragments we haven't quite learned how to fit together?
I may not be a masterpiece yet but that doesn't make me any less of a work of art
this is your open invitation to all of the messes of me

god ****** you are so beautiful, you're like a walking piece of art

and as someone who loves art
and has seen **** like van gogh's starry night in person
or monet's water lilies
or any of beth cavener's sculptures
you are so ******* unique
and breathtaking
I can't get over you
I never want to have to
you're as priceless as salvator mundi
and I feel so ******* lucky to have even gotten a glimpse of you

Death sits on his perch and watches with patience, as the dwellers march on and his masterpiece develops.

My back is barely a canvas
as my blood drips between my shoulder blades
creating a destructive masterpiece
from allowing the cuts to be visually stimulating
rather than attempting to treat them
with the love and respect
that they deserve.

I am a sculptor.
An artist.
My masterpiece? Myself.

Every curve, layer of paint,
Every shadow or exposed face,

All cultivated. Planned.
Incorporating all I know
And that which I do not know

Yet.

But you have only a picture.
A photo.
An image from just one angle.

And all that you recognise is
A flat
Two dimensional
Processed scrap of film.

He's staring intently
                                                  at the task in hand
incomplete masterpiece
                                                 outlined (a deep black)
bitten lip;
                                                 - out of focus
I adoring His own
                                              magnum opus
hands;
ache to trace
                                             sharp jawline; a
defined collarbone-
                                            ridges and valleys
…..Gravitating back
                                           he holds it up for approval
dimpled smile;
                                               breaking dawn

                            "Perfect"
                     (hear myself whisper)
closer now, frozen tide
                                             a whiff of the ocean
                        tsunamis in my heart ; waves crashing

          (but I wasnt talking about the sketch)

God fashioned us with love and care,
HIS masterpiece.
HE chose a  special bone that protects man's life,
The ribcage that protects the heart and lungs,
Man's heart, the centre of His being,
Man's lungs that hold the breadth of his life.
From the rib, HE lovingly and patiently shaped and modelled us.
Created us perfectly and beautifully,
Gave us the characteristics of the rib,
Strong, yet delicate and fragile.
HE chose well,
Not the bone from man's feet,
To be under him
Not the bone from the head,
To be above him,
But, from the bone beside him,
To be held close by his side,
And like the ribcage to protect and support him.
You are HIS perfect form,
HIS beloved Angel.
You are what Adam and man experience of HIM,
HIS holiness, strength,purity and love.
Man is HIS image,
You are HIS emotions,
Together man and woman are totality of HIM.