the emotion, beat, and drums
it pounds through my soul
and in it, i've never felt so free.
Rhythm is a dancer,
and i am her partner.
she leads, and i follow.
not everyone sees her
but what does it matter if i do?
(she is still skinnier than me)
color splashes through my veins
and winds its way
into visions i see in simple things.
sparks. words. abstract.
the idea melds into a project
and when i open my eyes
there is something new on the canvas.
but what does it matter if this is what i see?
(she still has perfect vision over four-eyed me)
the waves in my mind leap and connect
in electric flashes,
connecting and fluidly lighting the way
to a solution.
its elasticity has saved my life
time and time again.
but what does it matter how i think?
(her viewpoints are seen with more value over mine)
words have always been powerful
they can strike or stroke your heart into
a fiery furnace of emotion.
they leave my fingertips,
spiraling into thought-laced bubbles
that pop and spew my thoughts
into your consciousness.
but what does it matter how i write?
(she even has prettier hands than me)
my waistline sags past the number
proclaimed to be appealing.
my hair lies dull and dark
a direct contrast to the world's desired shade.
the eyes that see art in everyday life
lie hidden behind a boring shade of dirt.
my physical features are explicitly
but what does it matter how i look?