Some days, it feels like the weight of the world is bearing down on me,
forcing me to hold it up with my tiny arms,
keeping me from speaking with my silent voice.
I look at your paintings and sculptures,
the way your lines run smoothly beside and over each other,
the anatomy of your figures and the way their garments drape over their marble skin.
The air around me changes and it is like I am different,
like the world is no longer forcing me to be someone else,
and I am choked up in the magic of your work.