Inner Thoughts

Clear Canvas

She starts off as a white canvas. 

No, 

Rather, a clear canvas. 

And the world can see right through her. 

They see past her transparency and see what they want to see depending on their perspective. 

A beautiful soul. So clean; so pure; so rare.

A vulnerable child. So easy to manipulate; so easy to take advantage of.

Either way she's perceived, she is wanted. 

They want to make a dent in the canvas.

Touch her gently, with only the tips of their fingers, and make whirlpools in her eyes

                                                               Or,

Grab her forcefully, with no consideration, and cause tsunamis in her life.

Paint beautiful strokes of a sunset, leaving no part of her untouched

                                                            Or, 

Scribble violently, with reckless abandon.

Lather in precise, hand-crafted tattoos

                                 Or, 

Bruise and scar and scab beyond all recognition. 

They want to make her translucent, and soon, opaque. 

They think that no one else will cherish what she has to offer. 

She's like graffiti. 

Some look beyond the fact that she was vandalized on the side of a wall

and view her as a masterpiece.

Some disgrace upon the fact that she was trespassed against 

and wish to paint her back in her original color. 

People disagree and argue. 

"She's pink!" "She's blue!"

They're both wrong; they fear.

She can never return to her original form; to her original color. 

She's layers and layers that fade into year. 

And one thing is certain, no one can paint the color "clear." 

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Even though she doesn't know it, Tuesday 's (hazard317) poem "Graffiti" sparked this poem. :)