every human, a work of art

if I could
i would
change every mirror
to reflect nothing
but our souls

so when the world glances,
they see their beauty
beaming from their hearts…
or identify the cruelty
that may harvest
when we mistake facial features
for a priority

if I could,
i would.
there are sullen eyes that stare
allowing insecurity to fester
and darken their auras
the air becomes heavier
pushing them down

but

every human is a work of art.

my soul is a moleskin journal
bounded by my spine,
creaking from the hands
that have neglected me
but comforted by shelves
that have supported me 

my scars are mere coffee stains
adding character to the pages
place me upon your nightstand
and kiss me with your fingertips
before you go to bed

if I could,
i would
because
every human is a work of art.

my bones are manifested into an easel
for my skin to be painted upon.
i do not fear the colors on your palette,
but kiss my canvas softly
when you brush across my complexion 

 

every human, a work of art
yet we disregard our interior
to resurface our exteriors.
we rinse out all of our colors
and mutilate the ink of every sentence,
struggling to move on after punctuation
and the end of every brush stroke
not knowing we continue to exist
past our small endings
not knowing every battle fought
simply adds value to ourselves
unaware that every chapter
is a part of a novel
and that every painting
is a part of a gallery

every human, a work of art
my cousin hung himself
unaware that he should have been hung
in the finest museums of the world
tourists to awe at the strength of his soul
and the beauty of his character
unaware that he
was a masterpiece

so if I could
i would change
every mirror
to reflect
nothing
but our soul.

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