Run your brush across my scars,
Sign your name on my heart,
Let your strokes form me to your perfection
And look at me for hours,
Thinking of how you can make me better,
Smile at me when you're pleased,
Hang me on your walls,
So every morning,
You won't have a choice but to look at me.
Make me your prized possession,
Show me off to the whole world as yours.
But I beg of you,
Don't make me your trial and error,
Don't rip me to shreds,
When you aren't satisfied with all you've
Done,
Don't replace me with a sweeter painting,
Don't replace me with flowers and nectar.
Don't give up on me,
When your bristles,
Don't match my stubborn skin.
Don't tear your eyes away from me,
When you aren't able to hide my sorrow,
With your overflowing bright colours.
It's not your hand strokes,
That are to blame,
When my flaws are still showing,
So don't think yourself the cause,
For my born impurities.
Make me your painting,
Only if you promise,
That you'll adore the picture,
No matter the end result.
~n.s
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Justice
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