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Art In Its Beauty

Art is beautiful...not for reasons known to the eyes.

I love art, because it doesn’t discriminate against my inability to draw straight lines.

It doesn’t punish me for breathing, crying, laughing and even for lying to myself.

Like a child, art exhilarates my purposes for existing.

Again, poetry exhilarates my purpose for existing.

No typo.

Poetry is art. Art is poetry.

Poetry impersonates the straight lines I can not draw.

However, poetry is my expression to what straight lines would look like if I could draw. Which is art.

Poetry is art. Art is poetry.


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