When I look upon certain faces
(Let’s be honest, the ones I see most)
All I see are the imperfections.
I’m the weird one watching
Your resting face
Lost in thought face
Tired unguarded face
All the times you’re a face
Who forgets she’s a face.
Wrinkles, spots, blemishes
I could freehand a topographical map
And then lead you on tours
Along harrowing crevasses
Loosening into mudslides of skin.
Everyone else notices
When you smile or laugh
How you light up a room
Like a flash of summer lightning
When the power goes out.
But I've been scanning the sky for hours,
Before the firmament ever foamed blue
With towering plumes of cumulonimbus.
Everyone else is normal
No one else is me.
The kind of beauty
I’m looking for only comes in such a flash
So you have to pay attention
Without trying too hard.
Concentrated gazes tend to efface
All traces of the sublime.
Maybe I only know one rote way of doing it.
Even Aphrodite is approachable if you stare long enough.
Conjure your most beautiful verses.
Then write them down in chalk.
Soon, a janitor arrives and erases
It all before a single word can be memorized.
That gutting moment when I realized
The truest meaning of having arises
Only in the context of inexplicable loss.
There’s no perfect way to describe it:
A wide eyed terror,
The blackboard blank and no one left to kiss,
Just me, sneezing in a cloud of white dust.
Seeing is what happens inside our heads
On ghostly blank canvases
Spattered with paints that we
Approach with makeshift brushes,
Hesitant to smear with unwieldy strokes.
Don't ask me what I see.
You’ll know the ugliness
That lives inside of me.
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