Paintings

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