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.