my mind a canvas-
and what better surface
to create upon
mold and shape upon

there is no wrong medium
I'll use acrylic and oil
I'll use basics
like crayon and marker

or something sharper
like sharpie so it's permanence
won't leave the landscape
of my brain

I'll use gesso and white out
to layer upon each layer
later I'll peel them off
one by one to see the
initial outcome

and if I don't like it-
I'll change it
because I'm an artist
and as my mind as the canvas,
I think, what better surface to work with.

if my eyes were never meant to see the world
at 6 am, as the sun is rising, and my blood is pumping through my veins
so fast, I feel lightening could be replacing my cells

and if my lips were never supposed to meet yours,
on nights alone, with a lot of fumbling, and suppressed giggles
between words that were worse left unsaid

and if my ears were not placed upon my person, to hear the way
you laugh as I tell you stories, or to listen to you whispering weakened
'I love you's at 3 am

then tell me why I was born unto this Earth at all?

Dare I confess the black stain on my soul?
No, rather, lets tuck it in conscience
No need to feel sickly an numb.

Tuck it away my soulless one

What if I could pull the hands back of time?

You can't sweety, it's done.

Can I make it fade?

I don't see how? It's a dark, dark stain,
And you've been trying so long now.

Even with all my good deeds?

There aren't enough good deeds
To wipe it clean, the lead in your soul
Forever drags your feet.

I don't deserve anything. Why do I go free?

Because you are destined.

Destined for what? A life of misery?

No dear, no, a life of greatness.
None of clear conscience strive
To erase me from their minds
As I would not exist,
and neither would the gift,
the necessity, the change.

But I don't understand?

Your stain is a gift,
The journey of the holy grail.
Where others strive and fail,
You have already failed now strive.

But I failed?

You have failed, but now is hope;
The ever charging fuel of your journey.

My soul is ****** isn't it?

You have nothing to lose,
this is the secret of life's journey

But what of hell? Surely it waits?
I hear it screaming my penance?

Hell? You're already here,
Perhaps one day, you'll make it out?

You think so?

It's possible but
I'm your conscience...
What do I know?
I only know why I exist
And I in turn, wish I loved my existence

So there's no hope?

There's always hope,
I'm still with you aren't I?

Yes, but I don't understand?

You don't need to.
Just keep hope, and in us,
Never forget where we've come from;
You are destined

But I am stained?

No, you are marked for greatness.

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

Staring out the window as the bus travels,
The beautiful, deep, green Valley surrounds me,
I yearn to soar beyond that valley,
Touch the tip of the surrounding mountains
I dream of the day,
I escape this valley.
This large, barren, stone wall
cuts me off
from the rest of the world
Everyone else says:
"There's nothing for you out there"
"There is only pain and corruption out there"
"I don't want you spoiled by the outside world"
All of that...
It may be true, but...
There is something out there,
That's worth fighting the whole world for...