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baz Apr 2015
With a nervous grip, the girl picks up the paintbrush;
She glances at this boy's life, a blank canvas that gives her a rush.

She asks his favorite color; he says it is always baby blue.
So she listens to his preferences and across the canvas the paintbrush flew.

When she looks at the monochrome array, she holds such disdain
For she is an artist who cannot stick to such colors mundane.

Eventually she pulls away from the baby blues,
And gives him vibrant colors and vivid hues.

She fills his world with a colorful glow,
And puts her heart and soul into giving him a rainbow.
Dead Lock Apr 2015
If only we were dolls
With faces of porcelain
Then we could pick to pieces our paint on smiles
And see what lurks within
Brianna Apr 2015
****** is an art.
Liked red paint on a canvas-
I will be famous.
starting something new lets see how this goes.
Bunny Apr 2015
I keep poking holes in people with question -
As if their passions are maple sugar sap.
Do you sing? What do you sing?
Do you paint? What do you paint?
Do you play? What do you play?
How does your soul make art -- make love with life?
Sam Luna Mar 2015
I am no artist
But I paint with my tears
Eyelashes as brushes
Canvass on my bedsheets

Every morning when I remember
The history we've made together
I paint the memories
I recall the stories

My eyes burn
Forgive me
My tears flood
I am sorry
My mind shuts
Please tell me,
*"I'll take you back."
I am living in my own nightmare. i am sorry
Grace Jordan Mar 2015
My mother questions, “Why aren’t we equal?”
As she paints my walls with white
She wonders why my colorful friends don’t get as lucky as me
But she also wonders about the financial aid the government says we don’t need
I bang on her white walls and insist we’re well off
But she still asks why
And I can’t say “you! It’s because of people like you that my friends need a dollar or two”
Because of the way she plays hypocrite
Condemning welfare and the impoverished while asking why she doesn’t get any
Confirming the stereotype that most people aren’t innately racist
It’s just their own thoughtlessness that causes the disconnect
And it’s not just my mother, it’s all my people, me too
My friend once asked, “Why is Kierra so into social justice?”
Maybe because the history of our ancestors was carried on the backs of her people
Maybe because even today my people say we’re so good, so equal, so righteous
When we still look at a black man and assume the white is better
We don’t mean it but my assumptive mind insists that Kierra always needs a hand
When what is really needed is a strict hand to the side of my head
Jostle that rude assumption out of my head
She is her own person, not a broken house left on stilts
And assuming she is broken is worse than anything I can think of
So it’s a double edged sword because races need to work together to fix this atrocity
But we must also give each their freedom to grow and equalize equally
I will never understand the plight of one a different race
But I understand plight, from my gender and my mental state
My mother always told me treat everyone fairly
She always said to treat everyone right
But here she keeps on going
Painting my walls with white
Paint my soul in your colors
Design me
Define me
Until we are one
Creation and creator
Imagine my lines and speak my thoughts
Put me onto paper
Understand me accept me
Take my hand
And lead me to the burning sun
Take me into the new world
Write how it
Scarred me
Jade me
Then fold me back
Into the crevasses of your mind
Close and secure
And then close your eyes
An listen as I whisper
Design me
Define me
*I am yours.
Brandi Clark Mar 2015
I want to paint you a pitcure
With blues and yellows and reds
An image for your soul to take in
My perception ingrained in your head.

That split second before your lips touch mine
I want to transform our feelings into colors
And splatter them all over your fears
Of how I could ever love another.

But love comes in many forms
Different ways and different shades
And although he sleeps next to me
I still lie awake.

And during the time I lay there
Trying to rest my tired mind
That place between reality and dreams
Thats where I find you everytime.

And if i could just use our colors
To cover up the truth
Harness our left over innocence
Preserve the happiness of our youth

Then maybe we could just sit here
Your hand in mine
The picture of perfection
A work of art that knows no time.
Roxxanna Kurtz Feb 2015
I've learned how to see
the world like a canvas.
When staring long at the horizon,
the roads flood my vision like paint
running together in a muddy mess.
The landscape changes,
but everything is still the same.
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