soul art

i was a blank canvas

purchased at a discount craft store,

my years erased by a lifetime of pain

he was the artist,

with his bag full of bottles

that promised to make me colorful and beautiful again

he told me to smile as he painted,

to shine brighter,

and for the love of pleasing him,

to stay quiet

after all,

pretty things don’t question their creator

i stayed silent as his fingers trailed across my skin,

writing words in black ink that left stains on my colorful body

his art was a tattoo -

beautiful at first sight,

but so difficult to remove

as i sat quietly beneath his hands,

his silver tongue sliced through my soul,

creating ribbons of red that coiled around my broken shoulders

i said goodbye every morning as he faded away,

his dark eyes the last thing i saw as i rose to shine again

the night was his time;

i belonged in the day

he promised to create a masterpiece on my long-hated body,

but each morning i scraped at my skin,

wishing that i could return to the strange life of pain that was so familiar

i paid him everything he asked,

giving more of my soul and mind and body each day

trusting that someday,

it would be poured back into my own heart

even as my dancing-rainbow skin bled onto the floor at his feet,

i believed in the artist,

knowing that he would create something that my past had never touched

if only i had realized that his art would cost my soul