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"held his brush close to his heart- Like how he grasped mine yet I can't call him my own.
Whose pigment in palette in the sky like striking rainbows that fill such empty canvass ; sketches of life.
he showed me the beauty of abstract, the depth of unknown - suspends violently in the air.
each stroke of his brush. the line of his charcoal pencil. each shape molded by acrylic paint that draw my psyche completely.
He defined me as a whole behind his unfinished painting. Yet he's not that brave enough to show his true intentions.
He painted me gray Even if it wasn't my color. That artist presented me love now denied me at all cost.
now there is someone else, that been putting color to my once broken soul - of a heart you broke in two.
that artist that left me with a thought that keeps me late at night . If he wasn't that young, coward or insecure
Can I still be his muse?"
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i love this one because our teacher in 21st Literature loves this piece of mine. ❤️ It got recognized that is why I'm so happy.
