Last Draft of ART

Sorry, probably you are bored of this poem but I thought it would be sweet to include you in it's evolution.

So for the last time here is:

ART

It’s that

dirty little secret.

"Don't laugh-

my dream is to write a book.

I want to write."

It’s the tooth that you put under your pillow and hope for money to appear in return.
It is uncomfortable.
It’s growth.
It’s what’s crafted between thoughts

and shared with the world, or

kept to yourself.
It is ever-changing, malleable

It’s purity,
pornograpghy-
it's burlesque.

It’s the line that runs from the height of a woman’s cheek bone to the curve

of her breast, the slim of her waist, and ends with that poor baby toe.