BecomingTia

These eyes Coffee stained, Often sweet, often warm. A facade, but a lie, Never breaking, never shy, “Smile brightly” and conceal               A dim light beneath. A flawless mask, held tightly, So protected, it never weeps. Ever being, ever knowing, ever seeing the truth, Searching souls, through these eyes, Will these eyes, be searched too? To hear a pleading voice of courage, Scream refuge, scream truth! Will somebody ever get it, or are they just as blue? These eyes are a window, A looking glass to the soul, Shares company with a friend, Despite feeling so cold. Can you see it? Really see it? The light shining there

Sensitivity. It never meant to hurt, A heart, beaten and hated, A masochistic hurt. A trigger of words, Playing with the unconscious mind of sensitivity, It never meant to hurt, It never meant to destroy. Little words, They really didn't, Really didn't mean it, Never meant it... Never meant to hurt. But it did. Sensitivity. A little thing – really. To hate, to destroy, to be disgusted. Words that trigger sensitivity Triggered that, Within my self, It never meant to hurt. Words that trigger sensitivity. Hurt.

A sighing cry, Escaping the lips of a child, A ferocious wail, Creates a sound of the wild, A deceiving whimper, An internal battle never to be found, Your last moment, Hurt. Gashed. Profound.

A screech… The low whine purrs slowly, A scratching sound that stops and begins again, Sharp objects palavering with the cold floor, One sound so classifiable, almost pure in its own perfection. The sound is still ringing in your ear, You clamp your hands onto the sides of your face, Contorting your face in dismay, Eyes closed. The sound runs and halts. Nonstop, until a brusque noise is made and everything stops. You open your eyes, Standing up to see that you've dragged a chair across the floor.

Lightening. A time of acknowledgment, The heavens proclaiming a loud awakening upon the imperfect grounds of the Earth, God speaks unto man,and calls us forward to bow down humbly, All is quiet, no voice is spoken, all is in a wondering fear. Taking in the glorious magnificence of the Lord. The vigorous sound that shakes this earth, That shakes the person within you. You quiver and watch as the voice breaks through the sky, emotions seeking through your deeper skin. Too much to keep in, too much to keep out. This is the moment of the Lord, The moment of praise. The time of worship. Where the world is forced to stop,and watch.

It is a beautiful thing, It makes me grin with pride, It shapes our world and the creatures within it, It provides hope to the imagination, It says, "Diversity is my greatest work," Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, Oh, a beauty they are! Just wonder, just look! Young, old, ugly, beautiful, rich, poor, Yes! This is...the diversity of me, The Diversity of Art!