There Is Beauty

There is beauty

In the eye of the beholder ..

a painting

I struggle to grasp so visually.

A black Picasso

With the right imagery

And

The truth is as I get older

My brush

Layers new shades of my black

Shades that wasn’t

Showcased before ..

I tend to blend with my ash

Which portrays an unclear canvas

That polished my own wounds

To conceal the inner black

Beneath me ..

scratching my inner surface

My black

Draws pain

That leaves streaks of my fears

Of being inadequate

Indebt

This is the side I thought

To be the most appealing

Towards the world .

Hanging a false image

With masking tape

And residue of

Sandpaper

With a glazing compound

Used to

replace what’s broken

A Black yet soft spoken crayon

The strong friend with a weaker interior

Is this not a story worth selling ?

A broken crayon

Still holds color ..

But

What if my blackness

Becomes dull?

This Happiness is

Paid in full

It’s always a cost

So I fear to brush against my image

Because something always

Seems

To scrape me...

With

The audio of guilt

That replays in my ear

should I go like

van goh?

Or should I continue to discover

My different palettes ?

See

My black might be too foreign

Mozart couldn’t sample this

I’m

Swallowing

Pain

Like

Tablets

Typing

What if

In tablets

And

Would I appear

On your tabloids?

Titled

“There was

Beauty within

my black “

I just never seemed

To

Crack my code .

Could davinci

tell me?

I wonder

Can you see

days I created an empty

Expressions

Like the Mona Lisa?

Picasso couldn’t picture this

Does my brown not make you wonder ?

Can you see me ?

Or

Should I exhibit my silent scream?

Or can you feel this

Stuck expression?

Would you accept all of me ?

Like you accepted

My Scrapes?

And cracks

That

Broke this dry wall ?

To see that

There is beauty in

The eyes of the beholder ?

Can I

Shed light

On the

Black I hide ?

Can I be my wholeself?

One

Where

I’m not scared to

Reveal what makes me smile ?

Like

The kinks

Of being excited to

Play games

Or

Learning new ways

That

My black is simple

Yet extraordinary

Would it be okay if

I hung

New paintings?

The type with happiness

That might

Seem foreign

To most

Mozart couldn’t sample this

The type of black

That’s gold

Shining over my traumas

Tell me

Can you accept a puzzle ?

Searching for the right piece ?

For my black is a journey

And I’m no in a hurry

Of understanding that

There is magic in Discovering

My image

Of what

I'm molding to be?

See

My black

Is a

masterpiece

But to

Appreciate

That...

You must

Understand ..

That

I’m a work-in project...

That my black

Is formed by my imperfections