My life has been painted onto canvas
I am not a painting strewn through 
Museum walls
Not yet
Black for the loss
Red for spilt blood
And blue and purple for bruises
Yellow struck up from
The bottom 
Childhood memories
Sea foam green
For the waves carrying me onward
Watercolors
Built on messy strokes inside garage walls
And too much caffeine late at night
My purpose has not yet been decided
If I am to be
A landscape or a face
Or maybe an animal 
But I am
Beautiful
I don’t hang inside
Museum walls
Not yet
But I am still,
Beautiful
As the painter and 
The painting