She wished to paint with watercolors
because they bled all over the paper
Like her emotions bled all out of her wrists
but never out of her mouth

She wished there was a way to be beautiful
and still tell the truth of her messy, wild life

She was reaching for her razor blade
When the watercolors called to her
There is a better way
There is an easier way than this, they whispered
She wanted to believe it
but didn't know if it was worth the risk
didn't want to look weak

There was no pain involved in this new way
Only beauty bleeding from her heart
Instead of her skin
Was it worth it?
to leave paint stains rather than scars on her arms

Brush on one hand
Paint in the other
Poured a tint of green
Unto a pint of white.

I wanted more green.

You said stop
But it was too late
I already poured myself in
There was no turning back.

I wanted more green.

Instead, I got mint
Cold, cold minty hue
Now, I had to make do
With whatever green is left.

I wanted more green.

Green, green growth
And the best of my youth.

All wording not overly conveyed,
              I'm no dictionary.

My pen is my shield and my words
             my armour.

Sometimes dented, ridiculed,
            so not as lustrous as your

vocabulary giving,

but every symbolism
          I give in jest.

I can be a clown, watch my words prance on
              the page in fruitful

colouring of metaphor.

But other times I'm in the size seven
of another's outlook not my own,
emotion grazing my subconscious.

         For that fraction of eternity I'm them, you
I live there fears,  hopes wishes that die after I put the
                                                                ­             pen down.

Don't judge a piece of paper that has nothing on it,
           for will have a doodle, a thought..

A drawing of emotion entwined within its fabric.

   But you just ridicule, turn the page not knowing
                     the pain or joyful happiness
that went to create this...

Yes its not in your taste, but its there's, mine.

Were just artists of our own little world,
             and if you happen to land here.

Please be green..


   Recycle what you think,
and be positive,
    really do reflect on what others foresee.

Rain slowly seeps into my soul
Gathering gently at my pores
Slowly wandering, searching
for any life of creativity
A blank canvas awaiting a
stroke of color
Coloring out of bounds
No Lines, boarders,
or limitations
With only the power of a
pen. Control is given over
Free falling endlessly
repeatedly
No longer the beholder

-A Black Girl Untold

After the  chaos of struggle
When the source of power stopped flowing
From the tensioned dried body

I saw a paint appeared
Colored in blue like a sky
Elevating from
The horizon of the sea

Calmed down,
I saw the paint
Growing around me through me

All pure blue
Degrading in a lighter blue
It was a light

Constant
Likely that it was already there
And always behind

I want to paint ..
I want to paint you every day..
your lips ..
your face..
your curves...
I want to paint...

I want to kiss ..
I want to kiss you every minute..
your eyes..
your hands..
your soul..
I want to kiss..

i want to love..
I want to love you every second ..
your life..
your dreams..
your spirit ..
l want to love..

I want to stop.
I want to stop the time..
I want to stop and paint you..
I want to paint ..
the girl I know ...
the kiss I feel..
the love i live ..
i want to paint...
one day...
i will...

Hold the pen and draw
Tell the pen to show
The mountain edge
A Flame on a bridge
A rainbow colored snow

Hold the pen and see
A Garden full of trees
A golden river
A talking flower
A child racing a fleet

Hold the pen and breathe
Tell the thoughts to scream
An eye with a vision
A mouth sings a rhythm
A step towards the dream

Put the pen and fly
In each way to try
Draw justice
Outline passion
Fill the air, don't be shy

I might dare to paint love one day.
Or draw it. I haven't played around with paint much.
But when I imagine it put to paper its painted so perhaps that's the better medium?
Something about the brush strokes perhaps? Those little tiny lines but all having their own existence.
Their own job in being part of the final picture.
love is usually shrouded in reds and pinks and whites.
But that's not what I see.

When I close my eyes and try to imagine those feelings taking shape
Putting on clothes to present itself to the world

I see dark blue hues and sort of a glitter all over a black background
and the glitter isnt regular glitter but the glitter of the stars late at night out in the country when they blanket the sky.
And theres purplish colors ranging from the deepest purple to tiny streaks of the lightest pinks, and greys and whites and golds and earthy greens.

Every color that's rich and deep.

and theres this constant, ethereal movement. Like a dream.

Slow like the clouds floating lazily across the sky on an easy day. And theres a small white gradient around the edges to sort of make it glow...

I'm beginning to think love looks like a far away planet?

Ominous and beautiful
And it's corny, but I feel like we're our own little world.