I always loved to paint,
On my skin, on the white ruined walls and those cheap canvases that never dried right
I was never good at it
But then again I loved to paint
I always loved to paint sunsets,
The crisp yellow as it bleeds into the golden soaked orange and the ocean below glimmering in the gift of the sun’s light
I could never get the colors right
But then again I loved to paint
I always loved to paint the trees
The light filtering through the leaves as they bristled in the cool breeze of autumn, the greens proud of what they are, living just as fully as you and I
I could never get the leaves even
But then again I loved to paint
I should’ve never learned to paint with hatred
Fueled by the fear of never being enough, my paint brushes were replaced with scissors, my sponges with razors, my glitter with a screwdriver, and my paint with blood
My canvases switched to my skin, now scarred with my most regrettable paintings
The paintings filled with the smell of salty tears, the stings of razor burns, purely intentional, and the Kleenex stained a color of regret I feel even now
I was never good at painting secrets
But this was my Mona Lisa of secrets
I always loved to paint
The mixture of bright colors in a sunset, the reflection of light from the ocean, and the trees living in the breeze
I was never good at it
But then again I loved to paint