Blank. Pure. Untouched. Clear of any mistakes.
But that's unrealistic. Too good to be true.
Make me real.
Make me flawed.
Cover this empty canvas in a billion colors.
Tear me.
Scar me.
Make me as mauled and mangled as the soul that occupies this seemingly perfect vessel.
Put the world inside me.
The good.
The bad.
And especially the ugly.
Make me acknowledge the things I intentionally shut out.
Rip me to shreds.
Then take the time to stitch me back together.
Pull back the curtain to a collage of my former self.
Examine the masterpiece of wonderful sorrow and heart break that the world has produced.
Put me on display.
Step back.
Be proud.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
Blank. Pure. Untouched. Clear of any mistakes.
But that's unrealistic. Too good to be true.
Make me real.
Make me flawed.
Cover this empty canvas in a billion colors.
Tear me.
Scar me.
Make me as mauled and mangled as the soul that occupies this seemingly perfect vessel.
Put the world inside me.
The good.
The bad.
And especially the ugly.
Make me acknowledge the things I intentionally shut out.
Rip me to shreds.
Then take the time to stitch me back together.
Pull back the curtain to a collage of my former self.
Examine the masterpiece of wonderful sorrow and heart break that the world has produced.
Put me on display.
Step back.
Be proud.
