we are all born as desolate canvases
purer than fresh water, blank
our finished portraits determined by others,
for they are the artists
and they hold the brushes that control the paint
the words that can stain our souls
and yet they can just as easily cleanse us
removing the blotches
compliments are subtle highlights, pale shades
they are layered to appear
but negativity is a black splatter
it will smother all else
once there, almost impossible to cover
casting it’s sinister tone
you think the painting is ruined forever,
but then the paint dries out
you are now able to cover the black smear
with the help of your loved ones
and together you can make a masterpiece
an array of colour
and although the black paint is still underneath
it is forgotten about
we are all born as desolate canvases
we end as full portraits
KikiWantsHerCookie 