I read my horoscope
each morning
thinking I have a glimpse
into the future

Little did I know
that stories change
when the writer
does

A color capable of holding emotions as magnificent as the stars shining,
like diamonds in the spread of the sky,
yet holding a thousand shade of sadness.
The sky which holds people's lives between its palms and
sways left and right and
have its clouds riot.
Don't turn that color into a darker shade and bring down on me your tears and pain.
Don't reflect that tormented color in me.
But she does it anyway and
I wake up in the middle of the night
clenching my fists and gasping for a single breath
of relief,
of air.
Of air that is not tainted with the shades of that color.
But she does it anyway and
it turns me into a puzzled mess that makes me unable to differentiate,
to hardly be able to tell the different shades of pain
or love or anything in between.
The color that
ruins me.
But the same one that revives me.
The color of my lover’s eyes, so bright they look like
sapphires on acid.
The color that huffs its paint inside of my throat and
suddenly: I am able to live: and to love: and to be.

beauty is a selfish pursuit. wild endeavours stood before me on short legs, her eyes seducing me with a look I’d never seen before. Her body was voluptuous; in a way that she could hide a flaw. with her smile, with her face I decided she was a canvas. she moved in feelings, and my brush was stiff. I couldn’t move her way so I made her move mine, and she obliged with a heart full of love. and she danced with her fingers between mine, so I would feel safe that her heart was with me. And now she moved in paint and my brush created a perfect picture of this woman who was mine. Although beneath the thick layer of colour I created for me, was not a blank canvas but a selfless soul who wanted to be free. A pursuit of beauty in another, for my own selfish needs. So I can hold her hand and call her my own. and so you see I’ve painted a pretty picture congratulate me. this canvas could’ve been many things and she hung herself upon a wall for me, to stay put forever.

if i am the artist
you are a collage
of all the things
i love the most

She painted her walls
The brightest of yellows
That when she opened her eyes
She would feel some warmth
Instead of being so hollow
She wanted to paint some more
The purest of blues
Even a touch of verdigris
High up on the ceiling
In awnings and moldings
But she came home with nothing
When she couldn’t quite buy
The kind of blue in the sky
One day she looked up
To cracks of blue between the clouds
In every widening crack
Is somebody holding a paintbrush
They would paint and paint
Until every blue is used up
She wanted so much
She wanted with all of her heart
For some spilled paint she could catch
When her tears cleared
She saw someone floating down
He landed without a sound
He did not offer her some spilled paint
But in his paint stained fingers he held
A piece of the sky
She grinned and looked up
For he had missed a spot.

Paint me with crayons
Make me radiate color and beauty from within my soul
Paint me with watercolor
The colors should run like rain

Paint me as you love me
Show me my true nature
Paint me as a martyr with a crown of thorns
Paint me as the sinner placing the crown

Place me in a prison with the key in my mouth
Make the key my mouth
Make me afraid to open the cage
and face what's outside

Paint me as the daffodils in a field
Paint me as the drought that kills them
Paint me as the sun with her radiating beauty
Paint me as the jealous clouds that hide her face

Paint me as a savior
Paint me as damnation
Please artist
Just paint me as I am.

he looked at me
like i painted the ocean blue
like i was the only promise he was meant to keep
like i was the one to throw stardust in the sky and create the milky way

—how do you live up to a reputation like that?

Pen Can Write
Pen Can Draw
It Can Even Paint

Pen can fill Colours
In Shapes and Drawings
And in peoples Life too

Pen has Sympathy
Pen has Empathy
Pen has Emotions too

Pen can Heal
Make you feel
Calm and cool

Pen can save
It can control
The way we behave

Pen Can Fight
For your rights
And for others too

Pen can **** colours
From peoples life
And make it pretty hell

Pen can help you
****** poor's property
And make you very rich

Pen can throw
Culprit in Jail
Or can even grant him bail

Pen could be Cruel
Only needs some fuel
Then it could easily burn

Pen is Sharp
It can Cut and Wound
And Make you Bleed

But is it really the Pen
Or the Hand and Mind
Of one who uses the Pen

Pen is a Weapon
Pen is Lethal
So handle with care