an intimate portrait

 

he saw me only in words and letters and not sounds or tastes but kept coming back just the same
when he needed to feel higher and better
he asked to sketch me and when he was done I was shocked for it was not my face I saw looking back at me
but a portrait of my most private thoughts and places
every nook, crevice, hill, texture
rendered in pencil so deftly and softly drawn
showing something raw and beautiful when I had never been beautiful
but when I looked closer I saw him looking back at me
as he saw himself
so it was never just me
but I was still beautiful because we are all mirrors to each other
and the reflection does not exactly lie
but just reflects everything backwards
so we have to look a bit differently to the familiar in others and ourselves
to find beauty and truth
whether gently drawn or roughly chiseled in stone
we are not lesser or lower than anyone to anyone for anyone
if we remember the reflection and the silhouette of the shadow in the afternoon glow
as it fades to evening as do we all
we are left with artist renderings or words and pictures
and we are beautiful and higher and better
but still words and letters will not describe
what we hear and taste but we can try
to be true

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