She wished to paint with watercolors
because they bled all over the paper
Like her emotions bled all out of her wrists
but never out of her mouth

She wished there was a way to be beautiful
and still tell the truth of her messy, wild life

She was reaching for her razor blade
When the watercolors called to her
There is a better way
There is an easier way than this, they whispered
She wanted to believe it
but didn't know if it was worth the risk
didn't want to look weak

There was no pain involved in this new way
Only beauty bleeding from her heart
Instead of her skin
Was it worth it?
to leave paint stains rather than scars on her arms

In the morning there's sun
And at night there's  stars
You're never alone in the dark

Honey never rots
Just like a soul
Never goes bad
But if you add vinager to honey it's no longer good
But once you hurt a soul with unfelt vinager
He will never be the same
The honey won't go back to being sweet
A soul may never go back to honey
Or at least he will never be the same

I wear you every day.
A delicate fabric that can tear at any moment.
I can’t give you away,
you’re sewn into my skin.
But
maybe
I can layer you
with a new coat material,
fresh warmth,
strong lining,
bold buttons,
that tie our seams together
so nothing can rip us apart.