I've always wanted to be an artist.
To have my words go with the desirable flow of the readers interpretable mindset and for them to say, "wow this girl is so mesmerizing."
But how can I do that with thick colossal storm clouds raging in my mind striking lightning on any rational sanity I might have left.

I wanted to be an artist.
To have the beauty from my eyes spill on to the blank canvas like the over flow of a dam carving water through the valleys to make its own distinguishable beauty. For people to see it and just feel the damaged perfection that had been sculpted into my impeccable masterpiece.

But how can I be an artist
When the only words people can read are the defeated thoughts my mind passed through.

When the only things spilling on a canvas is my tears and they evaporate unlike the strong mold of the gulf.

When the only damaged perfection is maintained in a porcelain complexion.

I wanted to be an artist.
But how can I.

There are words scribbled on every inch of my skin.
They seeped too deep,
so now i can't speak.
Even if i did,
i wouldn't know where to begin.