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Chloe M Teng May 2015
Our life a canvas
Renaissance of emptiness & bare
Waiting in wanting of a change
Of colours & sketches to wear

Our acrylic a creation
Clothings of words & expressions
Replenishes the canvas in colours
In boundless strokes of desires & justice

Our paintbrush the world
A place so tiny yet so vast
with people in shades of rainbows
A true necessity in life

We are the painters
Our dexterity a masterpiece
The one that the canvas relies on
The master of our own paintings

*We are Picasso
"Life as though it were an art."
Gwen Pimentel Apr 2015
There was something so intimate about sharing our favorite colors with each other
About sharing something that people deem as unimportant, basic information
"Does it matter?" He asked
And I said "Yes, because it's funny how we can know so much about each other yet still not know the basics"
I want to know the things that most people don't know
I want to see the parts of you that you hide in your shadows
I want those parts of yours that have gathered dust and cobwebs in the crevices of your mind
I want the parts of you that you may have thrown away
Black
Black was his favorite color
And then he followed up with orange
So he likes Halloween colors
Totally cool with that
And he asked me what was mine and I said I'm a bit colorblind but sky blue appeals to me
And he said he liked that
He liked this thing about me that people deem as unimportant
He liked this small piece of knowledge about me and even if my favorite color may just be as small as a sprinkle on a monster banana split, he liked it

I said I wanted to paint my room sky blue
So that when I'm in bed I feel like I'm lying on one of the clouds in the sky
He said he wanted to paint his red
And I said well that's a dark color
But he said that when he was little the sun shined through his red curtains and covered his room in this red light
And he loved it
I liked that about him
I could imagine his little self sitting on his bed staring at the red light that shone through his curtains
And all this red was all he could think about

If he would ask me again today, "what's your favorite color"
I think I would say, "You
Because ever since you came into my life you were the only color I could see. You were the only color I could feel like how you felt the red from your curtain, I felt your love. You made me realize that color is one of the best things the world has to offer. If I was a blind person and I had met you, I've no doubt I would have the best set of imaginary colors in my head because you have the ability to make me feel so much things at the same time and these feelings come out of me like paint, splattering all around creating the masterpiece of our existence. It was the best masterpiece. It was the kind that you didn't have to understand it to love it. You just loved it as it is. You love the color, the unusual mixture of color over color and the mystery of not knowing the reason behind this festival of colors. you came into my life not with smooth gentle strokes using a paintbrush, instead you painted with your fingers. You told me you wanted to feel the colors at the tips of your fingers and imagined that our blood would change color according to our mood. You wanted to feel that moment when paint meets paper, when color meets blankness because that's how it felt when I met you. You made it seem like knowing the favorite color of a person is like knowing what gives life to a person. I can't say my life has been black and white before you because I could see a few colors here and there in very low tones. As if I was looking at life through filtered lens. But because of you, I am no longer colorblind."
Haidyn Apr 2015
Please don't be alarmed
when I ask
if I can paint on your body.
I just can't imagine a better
canvas.
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
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