Paint is pushed through my veins
Pumped by the unknown beat of my heart
My hands are constantly trying to create
to release the inspiration inside
I wish I was a better artist
a better writer, a better dreamer.
Someone who can remove herself
from any situation that’s only intent
is to leave me bruised and broken
If my body could show all of
the wrongs done to me, I would
be made of shards of glassy skin,
my skin would be a mottled collection
of blades and blues and purples.
I wouldn’t be able to function without
support. If I was a building I
would still have my scaffolding and
no one would be allowed in, and for
the longest time, no one was allowed in.
But the scaffolding is slowly disappearing
progress is being made and
all of the onlookers are slowly
becoming amazed at the
structure that is unfolding in
front of their eyes.
One day the pieces will be
put back together and the
paint will be cleared off
and I’ll never have to worry
about being put down or worried
about being broken just a little
more.
Never will I be tarnished.
I shall be polished and beautiful.