Have you ever discovered someone who wouldn’t fit neatly in a box?
Maybe they filled them all the way and just couldn’t be contained;
Irrupting from their shell like a volcano, bouncing off the walls.

She would always surprise me as if to tell me “Just you wait and see!”
I imagined her like molten metal still hot and malleable,
still rebelling against that old time mold.

One garment, or shoe, or anything new, bubbles over.
New songs or sunsets light up her canvas like the end of 1999.
Thoughts simmer and pop in her like a palette mix of primary colors.

She is a hot mess of desires tempered by wisdom quenching fire,
Doused in love, she sizzles and snaps in the learning process.
Is it wise to watch chemistry without protective lenses?

Then there are the ferric friends who can’t resist her pull,
They follow her every move gushing in praise and admiration;
And when she chooses to repell a few, they wish an opposite charge.

She is not confined to a gas, liquid, or solid,
She is more than base or acid, more like both combined.
She is a chemical reaction, and a magnetic attraction.

This is not a high school science lab.
No single element or isotope defines her atomic mass;
Someone more competent mixed her ingredients.

She would laugh at that scientific description,
Those eyes would say, “You’re crazy and still not even close.”
Maybe I just haven’t figured out her style of art, but I’m just guessing.

This is not even art history class.
Her shape is more than cubic, more than realism.
There is no single era, artist, or genre I can reference.

Then again, some of the greatest masters took their time to lovingly refine.

Perhaps she is a great masterpiece in progress,
An oil on easel, or pigment in water, a mess of tile shards.
There’s a maker’s touch, a chemical explosion, paint dripping off the walls.