What is it that makes beauty? What lies down to kiss the feet of those wanting purpose, wanting what they only know is hate, discrimination, and a bitter heart? I see no future for this world, nothing bright or worth waiting for catches my eye. You might think I'm a moody person by the way I say things, but I will have you know that's exactly the case. What I see in art is something no one will be able to understand.
You see, ever since I was young I never could wrap my head around what they called "beauty". All I saw was a dark, scary image. The faces of people, the colors of the paint all blended in, and made what I like to call a mistake. Seeing with my eyes is something I can't do, I see with my anger, and sadness. I still remember when you told me how special I was for it, but then something changed. Your eyes grew cold, thin, and meaningless. Everyone knew what happened except for me.
It's not like I never had my own art work, I just understood mine, and only mine. from the way I planned to the way I took action, it was marvelous and so... breath taking you might as well call it your next lover. Something about my work never compared to others, I kept my head held high, and I didn't paint with my heart like most, instead I went through with my mind. Thoughts walked a path in my head singing a song of joy, and laughter it woke me up from my cries.
Can we put all this guilt behind us? or will it speak the language it was destined to kill us with?
ns 15.158.61.11da2
