At my most vulnerable (unclothed and

[joel]

At my most vulnerable (unclothed and
unnamed and underpaid), I thought of you.
As artist-eyes reduced my life, recast
my body sculpted by their hands—what else
had they achieved but shifting all of me
from my self-understanding into theirs?
Alone my eyes moved, watching art define
anew my opus: I not only mine.
And what they’d sculpt was beautiful, aware
of angles, movements, lines I’d never be
and never was. That thought, that thought compels
now my admission: I’ve perhaps surpassed
your personality with art construed
to own you from the views I understand.

[iblieve]

your vulnerability seeps out from the words but in a very moving artistic way which is my way of saying fucking awesome poetry my friend. iblieve