The paintings!
The rain has destroyed the art.
The colors drip like blood from the canvas,
The shapes mix together and blur with the meaning.
No one could plan this.
The memories!
The shame has broken the heart.
My honesty crumbles each time I’m reminded,
Their brush strokes fade under new ones,
Like no one minded.

My eyes, that I carry in my hand.
They let me hold the beauty of this land.

Just a square, it’s not much to revel,
Even with its grid and with its level.

It goes beyond some glass and metal,
It opens my heart and mind just like a kettle.
The steam and scream find their place in self esteem,
Because through these eyes the world gives sighs,
And I finally find a reason why life looks oh so green.

Have I lost what I’m just beginning to realize
is most important to my heart’s longing for home?
I was formed in this comforting hurting place of greens and golds and blues.
Help me,
I’m crying in the home-sickness of my bulldozed childhood house.
The rain that blurs my tears,
The fog that hides my fears,
The cold that gives warmth to what’s dear.
Like my memories slipping,
This sense of security feels,
lost.

Stop taking my glances.
I swear they’re tearing me down.
I get caught in these trances,
And I lose more of myself.
I feel empty each time.
They aren’t just open chances
I hear the world’s whisper,
But I feel the heart’s scream.
Each pair of eyes are a sister.
I want a mind as clean as snow,
I want my heart to be someone’s home
But I fight these these feelings as my fists get blistered.

I’m gonna break a bone,
Through every single mental groan.
I tried to take the beauty, but I couldn’t hold on to the life that gave it meaning.
And through your colors, washing me with new things,
I could still only find darkness without agreeing.

I get so mad knowing you will never understand what I see.
You can’t see the pain,
the memories,
or the people who make up these images.

My mind works in such an otherworldly way,
I wish it wasn’t so far away.
I wish I could just share it with the world.
Even if the vulnerability hurt me, it’d be worth it to be less lonely.
All my thoughts could be appreciated,
and in their own light,
to the right people only.

I think in sentiment, so the clues of the portraits I create,
would communicate in clear secrecy, the truth they bear about me.
This unimaginable beauty,
that even I only see in glimpses,
would maybe a have a place,
could maybe be hung in a museum,
sold in an auction,
stolen for its value,
fought for to save.
It’s infinite.
the stream, the river, the trees, the forest,,,
the undetected particles in the air glowing in the ray of gold squeezed between the canopy from the sun,
the world of green and blue underneath the repetitive streaming and complicated designs that carry rainbow colored fish,
even just the emptiness of sound at the precipice before the greatest vastest canyons of our earth...
You can’t dare to frame a single one of these without spending every medium you can find.

And now I think I get it:
Art cannot contain the beauty we see and feel,
It is meant to be a crack of a window to the inside of what's real.
Art borrows a pinch of the beauty to show the others a glimpse to awe at,
And if successful, that small crack may bring one into the glory of it all someday.

You don’t light up the world, but you allow me to see.
The truth still hurts,
But everything is now warm and full of life.
All the beauty around me,
I can feel it and touch it,
It wraps me like fog hugs the mountains.
I can’t help but slip into dreams,
Even while it’s right in front of me.
The worlds that you create break my mind into rosy memories to fuel my sentiment and comfort every day.