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 donβt hang inside Museum walls Not yet But I am still, Beautiful As the painter and The painting