if girls are so good at painting their faces
i wish we could turn them loose on a real canvas
see what they really mean
when they paint those black lines
every girl is a painter
she needs a real canvas
da vinci is lurking behind those sultry lashes
trapped in the eyeliner-barbed wire
a concentration camp of cover-up
clipping their own wings
willingly
with eyelash curlers -
every girl is a painter.
i wonder what faces they would paint
if they stopped focusing on their own face
i wonder if they would still have clown-smiles
and slanted eyes

i am looking for the next van gogh
but he has camouflaged himself
and is dying in front of an empty mirror.

Whispering mango grove, in its heart
keeps this secret, lone block of rock
black and sturdy, precambrian marks
making it a thing of curiosity.
Travelling by foot, weary, needing rest
he sat leaning against its ancient comfort
not knowing what a boulder has to offer,
other than that,
                          as his eyes pulled curtains,
and brought the night for the time being
he heard a music or was it a voice, almost like
another kind of silence?
The sculpture within the boulder's prison
told him in a pathetic tone,
how beautiful it was
"Help me come out of solidified darkness,
take away the bitter cup of solitude
millenniums made me drink
I want to see the light of the day"
When he opened his eyes he heard
the voice echoing deep in his psyche
---a flower bloomed suddenly within
the barefoot traveler's  diamond moment ,
right then, he heard, the beauty within him plead
to be discovered, the rock and him aren't two,
                                                   realization dawned.

There was a girl who cared too much.
She loved and she loved
But all she got back was her torn heart in her hand,
Crushed, crushed, crushed.

She'd throw her last penny in the wishing well
In hopes that life would be better
For a girl from a faraway land,
Living through hell.

She'd let the Prince break her heart,
Smash it to pieces time and time again,
Just so he could realize that there was a different princess,
With whom a relationship should start.

Though all of this may sound quite depressing,
She is always filled with joy at the thought
That someone is finally getting what they desire,
Yes, she considers this personality trait a blessing.

Give, give, give, giving girl.
Do what makes you happy, give your love to the world.
Take, take, take, Take until she can no longer live.
Do what you do best, world; and take advantage of the fact that she'll always forgive.

One last thing before I go.
A story about the girl's murderer,
A heartless friend who ended her life in youth.
You mustn't let the nursery rhyme fool you, so here's the honest truth.

She sat happily on the wall, when all of the sudden she felt a hard shell.
Humpty Dumpty had pushed her off, with all intentions of letting her fall.
She grasped for him to save her, her last words being as caring as she-
I hope he doesn't feel guilty, I know this happened accidentally! -
But don't worry, karma delivered its share. as Humpty Dumpty lost his balanced
And fell off the wall as well.

Of the five senses, touch was the first to go
When the rot set in.
Necrotic from disinterest; disused and numb,
A disconnected *****, a colony of one.
.
Then sound; your messages left unheard.
Just the tap tap tap of some manic mind.
No pause...just repeat; the eternal rewind.
Sleep starved, all words stick frozen in time.
.
For leading me into temptation; my gluttonous sins,
Taste and smell succumbed, then withered and died.
Staunch as a deacon, control finally mine.
The harvest ignored, bloated  on the vine.
.
Only sight eludes my metal fatigue.
The mirror much stronger, it haunts and it taunts.
Its warped funhouse images all I can see.
The bully I made...this cruel double of me.