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Abused, lied to and cheated on also used for sexual gratification by boys calling themselves men, my brush strokes black lines on my canvas again and again
Violent strokes of red across the canvas as my anger boils out of control in a rush, possessed by a broken spirit even though it’s my hand that is holding the brush
Somebody else’s trash being picked up and dusted off and revived, being treasured and concurred by love my image starts to come alive
Nurtured and brought back to life with strokes of pretty purples and pinks my picture is starting to look a whole lot better I think
I see the beauty immerge even though my painting is incomplete with colors of the rainbow starting to fill my soul the more I see the image in my painting mature and grow
I step back and take a real good look at my masterpiece and realize the picture that was being painted is a portrait of me
