Wednesday, February 18, 2009

written June 12 2007

June 12

emotion

how is it I seem to effortlessly twist myslf into situations that will inevitably hurt me.
I seem to be a master at this..
One day I want to pick up the paint brush and paint me.
My skin fair and creamy, the scars on my face I take away.
I can change myself, if I want in so many ways.
My eyes can be brown, green or blue.
My lips the deepest red or a violet purple.
Sunglasses to hide beyond.
My nails are my mood.
Pink for happiness. Red for HOT.
My clothes can shout:
Sexy! Daring!
Fun!
Laid Back!
My hair they say:
Wild! or straight calm.
Looking at the picture I see me physically.
The picture doesn't show me, the real me.
My emotions, my strengths. The hurt inside or the smile to cover the feeling.
Happiness on the inside does not shine through.My pain, my pressure, my love of life.
My goals, my sadness, are all hidden inside.
Again the paint brush moves and once again I paint.
The feelings trapped within so deep within everyone.
The child within happily smiles.
Another stroke sees the child sobbing pain spreads across its face.
The paintings not as strong as emotions, but stronger than words can describe.

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