I desire An Artist.
A Man that appreciates God Damn Art.
A man that appreciates the Beauty in everything I see.
Who understands that I am An Artist.
And I am sensitive.
Tender and sometimes fragile.
Delicate like a collectible,
That can not be obtained,Or restrained,
Or easy to maintain.
I am Tough,
Like the Power of Love,
The persists on,
Can he hang on?
Or Fall off?
Or dive in?
Where does beauty begin?
Where does beauty end?
Welcome to the World I Live In.
Am I seen as beautifully human?
Will they see the value?
Will they depreciate it, if given the chance?
In the future will the Man I choose?See the Beauty in Me?
Does he still believe in Romance?
Does he see me as worthy of finance?
Does his mind wonder like Mine?
Is his vision and goals the same as mine?
Does he see me,
Flawed, imperfect, moody, Bossy,
Yet charming, does he see me as just being flossy?
Does he see the canvas with my life printed on it?
Underneath that lies a divine blueprint.
Too expensive to Buy,
Too Precious to Rent.
Does he see Me?
The Beauty in Me?
Respects that I am a She.
Who a whole woman alone?
Desires, but also needs.
Will not beg for what I deserve.
Will not cry when I am not served.
A Woman who loves herself.
Beautiful. Crazy. Imperfect.
Will he Lie?
What he deny what he sees?
I didn’t even see her at first.
Men from my past hardly called me Beautiful.
They called me gorgeous.
What does that mean?
I had to go to the mirror, and see.
Are they talking about me?
Some called me ugly.
Tall and Slender.
With a little extra in places it shouldn’t be.
Big Feet. Big Eyes.
I looked like a Giant when I see myself.
Even sometimes I am intimidated by Her.
Then I asked myself,
Do they really see me or just what they perceive?
Do I have to believe?
Who defines Me?
I looked and Stared at the mirror.
I looked into my own eyes.
There She is.
I know Her.
Who do they know?
Because I am nothing less than Beautiful.
Do you see that I Am God Damn Art?
Sometimes I feel weary.
Sometimes I feel ashamed.
How could this disconnect occur?
Who is the blame?
I found my own beautiful.
I saw her in my reflection.
Even if some of their labels are accurate in what they see.
I always see the beautiful in me.
Even when I cry at my own flaws.
I laugh in joy at the stories of my scars.
I see strength & courage;
Art & Beauty.
I see beauty in me!
Why didn’t they see?
What will he see?
I can only hope he is An Artist.
So he can see the Art of Me.
And She is Beautiful;