The beauty 
in this 
lies not
with me
but you 
for I
know what 
and now 
that what 
is up 
to you 

Maybe that’s what 
art means then
something simple that 
came from one 
be it dance 
or word or
paint or wood 
that means something 
different to everyone 
or to none 

How do 
I look 
into eyes 
that look
like yours
but not 
no glimmer 
or glee
or glow 
just eyes 
looking back 
at me 
seeing nothing 

The farther I
go the more 
alone I get
but not lonely 
for I have 
alongside me all 
the lives of 
which I’ve lived 
and they keep 
me company as
I do them 

And so 
we’ve become 
a world 
of isms
and ists
meant to 
show shame 
not solidarity 
setting aside 
a bias
as preference 
does not 
hide prejudice