Brushes, paints, a palette and canvas
These are all I need
To turn my miserable past
Into an art that radiates peace.
But where do I start?
Just when did things get wretched?
I can't fathom the answer inside my head.
But I felt it from the depth of my heart.
Still, realization hits me
How can I paint?
When I can't even hold the brush steadily.
When my hand can't recover from pain.
Hopeless. That's what I am now.
I badly want to laugh at myself
For thinking I could turn this into art somehow.
And I should just keep these things inside the shelf...
Like how I made myself believe
That maybe, painting is not really for me.
YOU ARE READING
UNMUTED WORDS
PoetryShe couldn't help it but to let her pen kiss every page of her journal. Writing every words she wished she could just say but her voice betrayed her. And now she found the way to unmute those words, which is through the power of Poetry. *** Enjoy re...
