She dreams of the ideal man,
   but the suitor idolizes death in his soulful slumber.
She takes care of herself,
   though she cannot bestow her beauty to impressionists.
She falls in love,
   yet her delusional passions seethe her in disarray.
She finds new friends,
   but a ******* of overzealous poison tarnishes the relationship.
She cooks for more than one;
   ghosts accompany the reserved empty chairs.
She re-models her home,
   driven to impress; however, she is the only one impressed.
She longs for attention,
   craving for a taste of wanting to be loved.
She is she,
   and she is her own canvas.

You gave me a thousand reasons why,
You made it a mandate that I be with you.
You showed patience and care,
How Could not have believed you.

You painted a perfect picture of tomorrow,
A priceless canvas that would draw so many stares,
I fell for it, And I got glue.
How did I not see that it was all just an illusion.

You drew the curtain, and I saw the dark reality
Although you remembered every word I said,
You never tried to know me,
You 'crammed' your way into me,
Just so you could forget when you had me.

Surely the joke is on me,
You got me so fooled,
You made me think this was a happy ever after,
Clearly that kind of love only happens in fairytales.

It was a sweltering sunny day on Sunday
Sitting on the wooden chair behind the Window
Painting the canvas & realizing that She's In thought of one
As if that one could portray like a Rainbow,
So that,
She tries hard
In good faith
If only her attitudes cling
Even to the small things!

I stared at my canvas,
Unshakable, proud and bold
I swirled the colours around
And my story, I told

I started out with rose
Pouring my love
I added some white
The colour of my dove

I sprinkled some sky
Calling me wise
And a touch of yellow
For the sun to rise

I worked on it for days
And months and years
I wanted it to be perfect
The life I held so dear

Finally, one night
As bright as a ray
I felt complete
I stepped away

Staring back at me
Was my smile

I know only one person very well
One person I can describe very well
So I write mostly about him
Me

I write my own story
Put the emotions where they need to be
Take a break when things get too fast
And stop where I believe I should

I paint my own portrait
Place the dark colours where I deem fit
Brightening where the need be
Living the brush strokes in desired directions

I give not my canvas to any other
No matter how good they may be
Cos they may never present the true me
For this is what remains when am gone.