I told her to be my canvas
As I can become the painter
I want to show her how we can work together
Like two people who build forever
I told her to become my muse so I can paint my future onto her rich melanin
Until the tempera soaks into her veins
But she told me it was bad timing
So I figured I would paint her into the right time
Creating a portrait that will be the depiction of her perfection
But then I wondered,
Why does a beautiful work of art continue to live alone
Just trying to understand why she hasn’t been taken
Why hasn't someone invested their life savings into her
It’s as though she was placed in the finest museum
But her radiance is overlooked because of its tainted history
Her canvas is ripped and torn with bruises and scars
Telling me how rough of a past she's had
She cotton and linen is ripped
And her soul is broken
Her paint is smeared upon her face like tear dops
Yet I still find myself staring at her colors
Only wishing she knew how much I did not overlook her
Instead I looked past the rejection and visualized a painting whose core has been damaged one too times
Now I realize it'll take a lot more than weak compliments and mediocre conversation to dig into her deep chromatic tint
What she needs
Is a man who is bold enough to recreate the glow she thinks she no longer has
To repaint the damaged acrylic that was smeared across her heart
I would drown myself into each delicate stroke if it meant I could recreate her
Staring for hours just trying to understand what was originally used to paint her
If only she could see the red paint that bleed from the bristles of my hands attempting to paint a portrait of us together
If only she knew how florescent her smile lightens up my canvas
Even on the days where the lack of creativity suffocates me
She flourishes each painting
She gives it life, she gives me life
She is my muse
My highest source of creativity
And if only I could someday sit her down
And explain to her
That I only want to use this tempera to create you into my cover girl
Because no girl contains the beautiful pigments that have been stained upon your skin
It’s like angels used the clouds as a canvas
Attempting to paint an image that contains the both of us in one setting
And maybe that will be convincing enough to prove to her
That her eyes hypnotize me with a cosmetic chromatic kaleidoscope from each flip of my paintbrush
But I only wish she knew
That there's just something about the art I think we could create

Rain drops on my window
Making a sound
A sound I love to hear
The calming and quiet sound