Art

Art is the way we speak
The way we dress
The way we move

As if mountains crumble beneath us
And we awake fearless

As if all emotions are equally valid
And we tell our story
Beyond hushed screams
And soft tragedies

Where we can be contradictions
In gentle hands from the street
And raging shots from what should have been
A happy home

Where we find joy rising from our sadness
And depression among everything going
Too right

Where we are the same and so different
Finger prints from hands that seemingly
Look just alike

We are art
In our breath
In our voice
A creation