The water transfers the colors out of the line.
It spreads and spreads,
Until it dries out.
The colors are still there,
Just slightly lighter than when they were applied down.
The harsher you push the brush against the pallet,
The darker the color transfers on the paper.
The colors are dried but won't ever fully disappear.
He pushed me like he was the brush and I was the paper.
His words dug deep and painted me blue.
He pushed the paint harder and then applied them to me.
The colors are dry but won't ever leave me.
They won't disappear.
I can ignore them but its only dried a little bit lighter than it was,
it's bright blue and I'm colored full.
The colors of others that have also painted me are filled me with range.
Orange
Red
Blue
Green
Every color you can imagine is splattered onto me.
Blue stands out more because its the words he's used against me.
Harshest Blue against light green.
Why can't I just accept myself the way i am?
