Give me a paintbrush and I'm lost

I produce things kindergarten kids would be too embarressed to take home to their parents, lest they stick them to the refrigerator door with little magnets and "other people" saw them.

Give me a pencil and I fare much better.

Things a high school kid would be kinda proud of but not necessarily want his peers to see are what I can produce with a pencil.

But give me words

Oh sweet, succulent words. Words with juice and passion and pain locked inside and I can free it all.

Words are my paint

Typewriter keys are my brushes

And this is my canvas

And on this canvas I can paint so many things.

Tales of love that remind what love used to be like when it was new and fresh and vibrant and all consuming, when love and the person you loved were the very air that you breathed, and when you could be with them you thought you would suffocate.

Tales of not love. Tales of a love that flows like a river in one direction only, always away from you and never towards. Washing away the banks of your soul as it does, eroding hope on its way before emptying into a sea of despair.

Tales of loss so vivid they bring tears to the eyes of some who read them for they truly are tragic tales.

And tales of hope. triumphs of good over evil, love over loss, joy over pain and sunshine over rain.

I paint pictures that make you laugh out loud and then quickly look round to see if anyone noticed.

But I am not naive

Pictures are subjective things, some we like some we don't.

And thats ok.

I'm not a big fan of Picasso, and as sensitive a guy as he was, he probably wouldn't be offended by that either.

Thank you for looking at the pictures I paint and the words I paint them with.