you didn't hear me
when i told you
to be fair

you didn't hear me
when i told you
i was scared

you didn't hear me
when i told you
you don't own me

but you heard me
when i told you
not to care.

art is created with the body.
limbs angling into shapes,
emotion permeating through skin.

art is sung with a brush.
single strokes staining a blank canvas,
delivering pain to an untouched body.

art is told with a pen.
letters creating worlds never having existed,
rays of sunlight born in darkened realms.

art is born in the mind.
the marriage of thoughts and
the tangling of physiques—
stories unable to be realized
through the sound of one's lips.

— they say I am an ice woman
     constantly dealing in the hearts of others
     but never giving my own away.
     I call myself a cautious woman
     but they say I never hesitate
     to break hearts as I go my own way.
     it is not that I wish to—
     I choose to keep myself at arm's length
     because I know they'll never stay.