Take a left at the willow tree
And picture an artist's brush
Painting colors not known to man,
Celestial images replacing the devil's handiwork.

I am learning to dance again
Even in this dreary downpour.
Rain can't deter me from
The sunshine of grace.

I will become an artist
And learn from the hand of God--
I will hold a paintbrush,
My new colors I will paint.

I am but now a young adult
And may you please consider this
I do not  want for an applause
Or recognition to be pleased

I am here at this stage
I'm at the middle of my life
So I just wish my future days
Won't be that sad nor full of strife

The only thing that could help me
Keep away from all the pressures
Is this feeling that I am free-
Freedom in words and in gestures

Have you considered to speak your mind
To tell those things you really feel?
Or you just sit down in one corner
Then cry alone, nothing could heal?

Oh youth, please do remember this
The only thing I could tell you
You have this big chance to be happy
There are much things that you can do

Your hands are skilled in making things
They almost beg, hear when they call
The crafts that only you could make
Now is the time to show them all

Your words that long hidden inside
Could be the best song or story
Or they could be the finest poem
Let them be heard, let the world see

If you can paint, just paint it all
If you can sing, just sing it out
If you can write, just write the words
No matter what, feel free to shout

Life is too short to **** yourself
By doing things you do not want
Or just to grow old with much regrets
That in the end you'll make a rant

Always remember that time's a gem
You should not waste, you should not stop
While still young, go for your dreams
Express yourself and reach the top!

The brush is still in the garage
on the cold, cement floor
beside the empty tin of paint,
its sides eternally dripping
with a dried, buttercup hue.

The walls which we smothered with color
are faded, now riddled with children’s earthy hand-prints
after a day in the mud. A mess to us,
the results of battles, safaris,
and space travels to them.

I could paint over the marks,
start over fresh and show off to friends.
But I think I’ll let it be.
No longer the bright yellow of a sun trapped in a painting,
these four walls have still brightened many days.

There has been roaring laughter,
divided by a few screaming matches
that have made the dog whimper.
This room has seen much of our lives,
and life cannot be painted over so easily.

So it stays. The color will always be buttercup to me.

I wonder how long it will take me to be whole.

You might think that this sounds odd or possibly vain, but it is a thought that torments me constantly as I am driving home in the wee hours of the morning.

I'm tired of being captured by the picture that others have of me, as I am more than a nervous disposition and a small frame.

Everyday I go through the motions, yet everyone I experience seems to see right through me. I am only a temporary splotch of paint that will be covered up on their canvas of convenience.

I finally reached my breaking point, and as I stood there with tears leaking through my closed eyes, you asked me if I was okay and at first I didn't even hear your voice.

I try to keep my emotions under control, but I have come to accept the fact that humans can only hold in so many different feelings before they explode.

You saw the small crumble of my body and mind, watched all of my colors pour out of me, and yet you stayed.

I am entirely grateful.

We're all authors
Typewriters
Pens
Pencils
Erasers.
We have stacks upon stacks of paper
Piling high
Of what we wish could happen
&
Of what really did happen.
We're all painters
Palettes
Paintbrushes
Tubes of endless
Reds
Blues
Greens
Blacks
Yellows
Whites
& in betweens.
We try to make a prettier picture
Of what's in front of us.
Try to take something ordinary
And make it other worldly.
We're all photographers
Polaroids
Camcorders
Film strips
Memory cards.
We capture the moment
And
Lock them in our hearts
Imprint them upon our brains
Because we don't want to forget.
We are all artists.
Because we each have visions
And create them
In order for others to see what we see
And
Feel what we feel.