This isn’t an elegant lyric or poem
You will find no rhyme or iambic pentameter
This is only my attempt to forge a connection
With the world around me, with myself.
Somewhere inside me, there is a painting
A picture screaming to get out
A fumbling journey of self-discovery
An attempt to love where I am in this moment.
I am capable of creating great beauty
Adept at fashioning an elaborate series of masks
I am able to hide the scars on my heart
With feigned confidence and pride.
Stumbling my way through, making it up as I go,
And doing it with style.
I am an artist, I create things
But I am also apt to tear them down
Skilled in the art of self-destruction
Invalidation as self-defence.
Somewhere inside me, there is a painting
A picture that I must get out
A piece of me that I thrust out into world
My so-called soul, laid bare for your awaited scorn.
Welcome to my neurosis
I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
Like, 23 years old, meeting my 20 year old sister for the first time.
Seeing my father’s smile in her cheeks
Seeing the same missing something behind her eyes
Wanting her burden to now be mine.
Somewhere inside me, there is a shy little girl
Who looks at her past through bitter eyes
But she’s getting better at the here and now
And keeps me grounded through this resplendent chaos.
Somewhere inside me, there is a painting
On the outside, my defiant art.
I hurt myself because it’s against the rules
The exquisite pain of the tattoo gun
The needle tears into my flesh
The mark it leaves, my proclamation to the world.
Having guts does not equal being fearless
Just as shared blood does not equal instant love
But I’m working at forging a brave new me
One picture, one brush stroke at a time.
