The Painter

What is it that blooms in your mind?

These different flowers,

Different thoughts,

Different sounds,

Different Ideas.

A painter with her strokes.

Pastel compassion,

Red love,

And blue melancholy

Dot the mind with precision.

With the full force of a dying star,

I feel detached from what i am.

My heart is frozen again.

Deep inside, i know

I will still be here;

Face to face with my self

Knowing truths

But Whispering lies.

My vast array of acrylics

Can only hide so much.

Can someone cure the symptoms

Its getting worse,

Spreading like wildfire.

Hide from the things that I know,

Run from the things i can't change.

They tell me who to love.

Its him

Not her.

It's more than I can take

Because I am still the same.

You can take what you want,

But not who i am.

A painter with her strokes.

I never want to change.

Under layers of color,

Layers of paint.

I accept who I am,

And all the things you hate.