Some people are blank canvases,
waiting for someone to create them,
waiting for someone to make them into something beautiful,
because they cannot find beauty in themselves.
They are the quiet ones;
the ones in the background allowing people to write all over them.
They get used and abused
and don't know how to say no.

Some people are graffiti walls.
They are the loud ones;
the ones under the spotlight waiting for people to see what they offer.
They can use and abuse,
and don't know when to stop.

But someone people are colored walls.
They show there true colors.
They can be bold red;
they can be haunted grey;
they can be lucky green;
they can be depressed blue;
sunshine yellow;
jolly orange;
mellow purple;
whimsical neon;
or pure white.
They are seen as 'lucky' because they seem to know exactly who they are.
But they are the unlucky ones.
They have no chances to become anything else.
They are who they are and have to live with that forever.

I am colored wall dreaming of becoming a blank canvas.

I didn't mind her bushy eye brows
I didn't mind her unbrushed hair
I didn't mind her mismatched shoes
I didn't mind that she never looked nice
Because she wasn't meant to look nice
She was made to make me feel something
She was art
Art wasn't supposed to be "nice"
Art is supposed to make you feel something
Something new and extraordinary
And I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her
She was meant for me

I am your smart mouth *****,
your ******* daughter,
that thing that lives in the back room of your house.
I am your ******* blood.
I am the earth dripping inside of you.
I obey your every command like a puppy.
I hear your every word and remember when you forget.
I give you everything you want because your happiness is important.
But secretly I dream of death.

Your presence is the poison I am dying on.
The scars on my arm are your hands- your making- not the cat's.
My flushed face is from too many beatings and slaps.
You ***** slapped your own *****.
And now I want to know why you did this.
Why did you want to hurt my emotional and physical being?
What did you expect to acquire from this?

What the hell do you want from me?
If you wanted death, you got it.
I dreamed of ways of killing you,
but you and I both know I will be the one to go.
I will be the one to **** myself in order to save your *** once again.
I am your angel who misses heaven,
but my **** owner has sent me to hell.

I hope your heart stops when your blood stops dripping.
I hope you feel empty when you have no one to control.
I hope you get everything back that you deserve.
Karma is your new ***** and it welcomes you well.

The air is thick with dreams.
I feel it as I take that first step through the barred gates.
Some people may call it a prison,
But it is no prison:
Well worn stone with marks of leaves;
Draping trees from the sky to my thighs;
Calmness lurking throughout the grass.
The earth is merely taking itself back.

closed eyes
white shadows
open mind
dark soul
what does it feel to be happy
what does it take to get there
i am tired of washed up feelings
drowning my mind
let me free
let me free
i scream and i scream
but no one hears me
so i open my eyes wide
narrow my mind and my vision
look at the dark shadow casted below my feet
and i walk out the room as if nothing happened
i am happy remember
i must keep telling myself that

In a box I lay
Shiny and
Reflecting the truth
Which may or may not
Want to be seen
By human eyes
That are full of lies.

My silver point
Underlines everything about you
That you wish to hide.
It turns your skin
Like a magic wand.
Ever so lightly
Giving you a frown.

You take me out
When you want to feel,
Then put away
When you want to be real.

I was made with innocence
And used by your mind.
My body inexistent
But I'll ruin yours
As easy as with a little line.

So beware of my power
I will let you know right now.
I am not what you need.
I am definitely not what you want.
I am here as protection
Just not against yourself.

Leaves come down
and brush against my forehead
as I walk underneath its rain.
It stands tall and mighty
like nothing can tear it down.
Somehow the belief
of infinity flourishes,
thought its roots,
up its spine,
and out through its tips.

I stare from its feet,
stuck into the ground,
without the ability to move.
How can such a being be happy.
How can it live.
How can it prosper.
I wish I would understand
but I cant.
I cant comprehend
how people and nature live
without moving
without seeing things.

I guess I expect too much
and am oblivious to everything else
I already have.
Why cant I just be happy.
Why do I have to care.
I want to be rooted and learn to live.