E 17h
Live in poetry
Hold unto novelty
Never settle
Never just be
Fuck being Content
Sadness, emptiness, happiness, despair, love, hatred, wonder
They are all colours
Why paint in black and white when you've got the whole
spectrum?
Feel.
caitlin 1d
I ate yellow paint to make me happy.
I want to smile again.
The people around me were worried about my colour lacking face.
So every morning, as the sun rose, I drowned my unsaid words in yellow paint. The colour was brought back to my cheeks, and everyone said that i was glowing.
I started eating the yellow paint day and night, to brighten my dreams. Yellow paint for breakfast lunch and dinner.
No one complained.
Except for my stomach, lungs and heart.
The yellow paint made my outside looks better, but slowly destroyed my inside. You see, yellow paint is poison, no matter how bright.
So it slowly killed me, but everyone said I looked alright.



  - I still eat yellow paint
i wish you coul(d) gauge my eyes (o)ut
and peek ins(i)de the hollow walls
dripping with red pain(t)
please look closer
/'kriːˈeɪtɪv·mɛs/
noun

1. it's that flash
of inspiration
adding colour
to your blank thoughts.

2. it's that exhilarating feeling
of creating something -
of actually creating something -
with your endless procrastination.

3. it's your canvas
being filled with splatters
of paint and glitter.

4. it's art.

- v.m
an updated version of my 2016 "art" poem ✨.
Her gospel beauty rises early,
Yet always late to gratify,
With eyes that gleam with intuition,
They burn the shelter where thoughts hide,
Her creativity runs circles,
Around these worthless, old commandments,
And so new love approaches me,
The way a painter does a canvas.
Jabin Aug 7
Painted a masterpiece
In my dreams:
A Chilean villa.
Cactus streams.
A flower composed,
Wilted with time
With muted colors,
Tequila with lime.
Fields of desert
With tuxtla soaring.
Winding paths of
Wood and brick flooring.
A cool wind blows
Through the heat
Over sweaty brows
And sandaled feet.
A moment trapped
That’s never been.
A life of others
Never seen.
Put away my brushes,
Stood back to admire
The deep ocean sky,
The burnt orange fire.
It lay on the table,
Alive on the canvas
When waking did cause
My hard work to vanish.
In memory only
And never shown
Forever discarded
Once beautifully known.
My studio of mind
So often produces
A wonderful concept
With no practical uses.
I’d like to live there
And run those streets,
Take shade under awnings
Sampling savory meats.
But I’ll never go there,
Never see that place.
Never plant in soil
That’s been erased.
That marvelous day
Conceived at night
Keeps the dreaming
Forever alight.
μπλε Aug 3
She
       wore moonlight
        in her hair
           Softly attached shade
       of shimmering silver
        with blue tint
    aroused the night Jasmine
to touch her whole
mind to body _
body to soul
~
The oasis of poetry
conquered her eyes
  with reality
of love _

imagination to art.
      ~
Now she paints love  
on the canvas
of her skin
where she wears
her heart
imperfectly. ...
Can't  you see
the painted pain
in poetry ?_
~
Sehar Bajwa Aug 3
art
As your tapestries collapse and crumble inside

Watch the bloodied paint flake off your heart

Don’t brush away the ink pooling in your eyes

Stand aside as they applaud your art
a million thoughts inside my head
I feel things I'll never show
a thousand things I never said
a thousand things you'll never know.
There’s this person that watches me at night.
Spray painting the walls in the moonlight.
I don’t know his name, but he just sits.
And he watches.
I hide my face with a respirator and hood.
Hoping I don’t get caught.
I love the smell of the paint, I wonder if that’s why he watches me.
He enjoys what I enjoy.
Hopefully, one day.
We’ll cross paths again,
Fully intact.
And enjoy these nights.
Where we felt so Abstract.
Just a little story I decided to write.
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