objet d'art

one.

i've never been good with words.

with jumbled up thoughts that seem to try and claw their way from the inside isn't exactly an easy thing to spill out onto paper, but i try.

i try to be poetic.

i try to sound beautiful.

i try to gather up all my thoughts.

i try to sit up straight.

i try to look people in the eye while they speak to me.

i try to not speak so loud.

i try to please other people.

and i try to paint myself as a beautiful fucking masterpiece that you might end up falling in love with, but how could i do so?

i'm just this mess of blues, greens, blacks, greys, reds, violets, and every other color in the spectrum.

i am just paint that seems to be bleeding out of the thin black lines you have created and i'm sorry for ruining what could have been a masterpiece.

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this chapter is dedicated to the lovely girl who made my cover!! herondayles  dandielions