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A Cracked Portrait
To paint a portrait
you need the colors of dull emotion
you need to graze the surface with the texture of depravity
you need a brush whose bristles are stained between hope and despair
set the frame so close to perfect, with the image so clear
the paint dripping from your arms as you reach for that glossy canvas
paint over the failures
paint over the mistakes
Paint over their muffled voices
echoing through that closed wooden door–
Their words mean to deceive you, to pull you to their false senses
such flawed advice clearing away the frame
clearing away the image
Their words now only wet the brush
–So paint–
Paint the face you wish to see–
with the viscous colors seeping from your shaken arms
staining the hard worn tile floor
Paint those voices out, now so distant and silent–
as your wounds fall slow into the porcelain bowl
dripping like the droplets from a cold faucet
Paint like the world has turned its eyes blind–
when only the sound of brush strokes land in your deaf ears
echoing within this empty insulated room
and if you would ever falter
letting go of its splintered wooden shaft
trembling hands
stained fingers
Fallen arms that refuse its grace, giving into the heavy bristles
only then should i lift them back to the canvas–
Because in truth
i can’t stop painting
ever brushing its reflective surface
Trained on the biased critique that hold no true love for this work
with the vacuum my conscious mind had become, holding onto that brush
painting over the nothing that fill this empty vessel
But now, the void has made room for this burning passion i see; because–
Together
we can see the image we so desire
Together
we can cover the blemishes and cracks that fill this canvas
Together
–We will paint our perfect portrait–
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