My painting

I take my empty canvas
And I wash my ready brush.
I focus all my feelings
And prepare for the colored rush.

I breathe in deeply
And I picture in my mind
The way I want hues to mix,
The relief I want to find.

I color the empty canvas.
I bring life to the white.
Fill that empty space.
Color feelings by sight.

My canvas is now stained,
Now colored with the hurt.
Reds, pinks, pale, pale skin,
A painting hidden beneath my shirt.

Too bad such a work of art
Has to be hidden every day,
Only to come to life at night
When I paint the pain away.

The tough thing about my painting,
Is that i can't erase my art.
I can't take back the painted contours,
Can't alter a single raised part.

My scarred pictures are permanent,
Like the hurt from where i have been.
Where eager paintbrush kisses canvas,
Eager blade kisses skin...

~aminfadly