You Are Not a Picture

You are not a picture but a painter,
crafting a work-in-progress,
adding one more brush stroke every day when you wake up
and lace up.
Shading in all the right places–
most of the time.
Except for when your hand slips.

You are not a picture
but a painter
who is trying too hard to be Michelangelo.
Honey you are gorgeous but you are not the goddamned
Sistine Chapel
and that is ok.

Stop trying to be the Sistine Chapel.

Because you are not a picture but a painter,
a human painter whose hairย isย often out of place
and whose blemishes can’t be swiped away and quietly hidden.
You are not a picture because you cannot be a picture–
always perfect, always beautiful.

Sometimes your hair needs to be messy and your dress wrinkled.
Sometimes you need to eat a donut or two
or five
because you are not a picture and sometimes,
just sometimes,
your belly is empty and you are sad
and donuts make you feel just a little bit better.

Pictures are flawless
and you are not.
But pictures are flat
and you,
you are the richest satin that will ever run through anyone’s hands.

You are not a picture
but a painter made of wrinkles and smudges and tears and grins.

You are not the Sistine Chapel
but once in a while, when the light hits you just right,
you look like art yourself.
Messy and with a wrinkled dress,
but perfect and beautiful
all the same.

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