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J Apr 1
blaring down at me
sinking me with fired density
the Sun
against watercolored galaxies
I lift a hand
to keep me afloat?
To block out the rays.
I stare up into the cup of my fingers
the background makes it as though I
left fingerprint molds into the view
I lower my hand to admire the work
but it is not my hand, only birds
scattering in uniform
soft raven and charcoal against ripped blue paper
broad of daylight, I
stand in the middle of the world
every inch of skin
goosebumps rise
to greet the warmth with a kiss.
karly codr Jan 8
pools of water
fill the color palette
light brush strokes
on thick paper
there's a slight mess-up
where the drip of water didn't fit in
it's okay
add some stars
or just leave it
some mistakes need to be shown
Erian Rose Apr 2020
Her heart painted waves
Deeper than her rising flames
Sadie Grace Apr 2020
She paints with watercolors because they bleed all over the paper
like the feelings coming out of her mind bleed all over her arms
like the words shouted at her bleed all over her heart
She wished one day to paint with acrylics
they were simple and quiet
they colored inside the lines
they didn’t bleed
but who cares anymore?
She’s already numb to it all
By the sea,
I watched as
the thoughts
within my mind
faded with the white
effervescence, I am
wrapped in a cashmere
blanket as I drink my
cafe au lait, the wind
tousled my hair as I
contemplated the
silence of the hour,
within its watercolor
becoming the gentle,
soft soul of mine
seeking to understand
the meaning of love,
even though,
I am misunderstood,
and so, I sit here,
content as a dandelion,
fragile, yet still yearning
to dream.
Nick Stiltner Aug 2018
The poles have shifted, the tide retreats from the shore!
Shanty lines revised and rehearsed
upon a crumpled paper covered with speckled dirt,
to make a lasting impact at the foot of the blackened hearse.

Does she hear me, this woman trapped in portrait?
The frame it yields and shakes mid rotation,
teetering back and forth as a compass without
magnetism, in circles as a ship lost to the starless night.

The painted woman with her knowing smile bores
her eyes into mine, her flashing irises projecting
from her world into ours, from her reality into mine.

My eyes blur and a vision dances for me,
a water color flow, with daisy tunes lost
in a shimmering and shifting mist,
swirling colors bear together, mixing and connecting,
rubbing and repelling, crossing my eyes in its intoxicating motion.

My mouth slacks and my shoulders sag,
lost in the trance of this melting scene,
and it’s dragging pull.

Excited I ran to show them, to show what I saw,
but they didn’t listen, to them I speak in gibberish.
I smirk and feel my face begin to melt, my ears drooping and my nose falling, the drops fall
and a puddle begins to form under my feet,
before dribbling slowly down the drain on the floor,
In a watercolor swirl.
Lillian May Jul 2018
there are so many different kinds and
so many different artists with respective training
let me tell the story of one
she liked to let go
she didn't like lines
the cloudiness of watercolor she found no woe
flowing with ease
the water went where it pleased
without tedious thought
it took the 'pain' out of painting
she was able to feel the art and the thoughts and the feelings
that art should inflict on a soul
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