art.

Have you ever wondered what it's like to get punched in the face really hard? Like, to the point where blood is just, like, pouring from your nose, and you can't see straight, and all you smell is that salty red shit smell? That's art. That really, really fat chick with the short blue hair that could really use a straightener? She's art. The way your food is laid on your plate, with the lima beans just sorta stuck in there with the carrots, and those little bits of corn, and the peas? The type of handwriting you use when you write something, the colour pens you use, the way you wear your jeans, the perfume you spray, the way you walk, you talk, you eat you breathe you sing you dance you lunge you prance you lounge while watching TV you sleep with your entire body curled up because that's the only way you feel safe anymore because he left you and now you have no one to cling to at night because his body isn't next to yours and he doesn't much care about it while you try to find the pillow that still smells like him? That's art too.

Because you are art, and I am art.

Life is art.