Blank

Hidden metaphors.

I am a canvas.
Paint spills across my mind.
The colors mix within me.
They whirl to blend new shades
Under my skin.
Shading shadows; these deeper depths of me.
Drag the lead to outline ideals.
The graphite sloppily meets with the colors in my head.
Pride bold with jet black sharpie.
Cap the marks of bad character.
Design me with lines over sketch marks.
Spread about my veins, the watercolors bleed.
The colors combine to make new feelings.
The clean shades no longer exist.
A world of brushstrokes dwell
Within my bones.
To take this pen, these colors, away from me-
Why empty the paint trays?
With time this piece grows.
After the chaos, after the mess,
An artwork is made of me.

Author's Note

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