I haven't painted a canvas in a year because I cannot find the strength to do it. But I have realized that everyday I have been finger painting. The way the tips of mine touch yours and they flow so still. The way my hands and arms wrap around my mother to hug her gentle presence tosses a light blue and periwinkle across this canvas.
Every thing my hands touch is another fine selection I am creating.
So when I go to shower and my hands glance at my skin seeing the imperfections, the texture, the scars, I know that I have created something so beautiful no paintbrush could Suffice. I have fallen in love with my hands and their ability to create Because to create something so precious with my own flesh And bones is to love like no one ever could.
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Glue Bound Glass
PoetryA compilation of cryptic, mind playing poetry. From the simplest nothing to heartfelt hatred.
