I am a painter.
And all my pallette holds are colors;
To paint the sky blue when it darkens;
To draw the Sun in the sky when it rains.
I am a painter and I doodle rainbows in my heart,
So that they spill over me and on those that I love.
The canvases, however, are always white.
Harsh and bland, like the truth is;
And in it's face, my colors are only masks.
But, I don't set my brush down.
Broken crayons, and dirty rags aside,
What I have to give is light.
The colors drip and the paint stains,
But they are still colors.
And I love colors.
