you can paint these emotions
write the words that shake your soul
tell the bold, gruesome details
in colors and phases,
mediums to help embrace
The pain you feel, the stress you steal
from your own consciousness
To make art?
but **** that
why can’t it be so simple
that I, yes, am the art.
it’s my life that I made to start
and like art, i am a work in progress
trying to process life’s questions.
so like these poems or those paintings
They are a piece of me, like an arm or leg
chopped from my soul, taken by ghouls
And even with a little part that of me
…
I can’t seem to love myself
like I would a piece of art