// August 17th of 2021
- Limited Angles -
As we stare at an artwork for hours, we notice minute by minute the artist's mistakes. A wrong brushstroke, a squiggly line, pencil marks under layers of paint, or an edge left unpainted. All that and yet, we still call it art.
We have been with ourselves the longest. We know our body more than anyone. Whenever someone calls us pretty, or compliments us in any way, or simply see something good. Our first instinct is to convince them otherwise. We argue and disagree, because we know we could write ten pages' worth of reasons why they are wrong.
But in the end, we are the only ones who believe it most.
The funny thing is, we only ever see ourselves in limited angles. You don't see how beautifully your hair falls on your back, the way your expression softens when you calm down, the little head tilt you do as you pay attention, or even the way your eyelashes flutter like butterfly wings.
Even pictures fail to do so. If a camera can't capture the exact hue of the sky during sunset, what more could it be when it comes to how we truly look?
We are a piece of art.
And it's a crime our eyes don't let us see ourselves that way.
//D.A., Poems & Proses & Points of View
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Poems & Proses & Points of View
RandomA not so everyday entry of poems and proses filled with thoughts about the world and everything. All through the point of view of a hormonal teenager who matured too early and lived so foolishly. No regrets, though.
