when i first picked up the brush and mixed the array of colors in front of me, i felt as if this was a propitious moment to paint over the forlorn figures i carry on my shoulders.
i cracked my knuckles, anticipation made the skin on my body tremble and buzz. the hands of Odds held my own. guiding me through every stroke and every splatter. this time i had its favor.
anguish and ebullience dripped from my fingertips into the canvas. i was creating. pulling at the harlequin fabric of the universe to create my own composition.
the warm hues stirred and whispered to the depths of my being that crave red-blood riot. to form rebellious shapes and disconcerting narratives. its horns blazing in crimson fire.
the cool tones awoken my cordial identity. it tamed the raging waves of artic blue. rested the ever wondering thoughts. its halo a calming cerulean.
i made and mold and mended.
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DENOUEMENT. original poetry
Poetrywords are power never forget your words. prose and poetry some are fantastical some are born out of harsh realities all for the love of literature 🌼
