Sixteen years I am celebrating,
My life is becoming a painting.
For those who are still remaining,
Let me start my explaining;
The canvas was white and bright,
No other colours in sight.
Ready before me were yellow, blue and red,
And a brush for the paint to spread.
With yellow I start to paint a heart,
Not really thinking that this could be art.
Soon enough it's beating on it's own,
No longer as cold as a stone.
With blue my quest continues towards west,
Where rivers are tears that I suppressed.
An ocean of secrets, that's where I will keep it,
Because blue is the colour of my spirit.
With red I paint the heavens and skies,
I might later add a few dragonflies.
The clouds are on fire, it's my desire,
Hooked on this wire, I won't be a liar.
I will not be satisfied at any time,
My life is not a nursery rhyme.
But every day I paint something new,
Today I chose to paint me with you.
YOU ARE READING
Words of Truth
PoetryMy poetry. My way of handling my depression. My way of control and success.
