by Andie Bottrell
We’re all a beautiful mess
A masquerade ball of imperfectness
A million unique dolls
Propped up on shelves, hung on walls
Waiting for epiphanies
To burst out like symphonies
And save us from destroying
Ourselves
The best art is blind to itself
As you and I are as well
A million unique dolls
Feeling depleted in all
Though adequate beyond poetry
Never knowing our rarity
We stumble most often all over
Ourselves.