Third Prize winner, 2019 Makewana Poetry Competition
 
 
He said he wanted to paint me,
That I needed another shade or two.
He said I was far too ugly,
And needed to be decorated in something new.
 
But his paint brushes were his fists
Whose strokes were far too severe.
The paint was his sharp tongued lips
Sketching ideas that were too cruel to bear.
 
His canvas was my body,
That he loved to paint black and red.
And when he found no more free space on my anatomy
He found places to paint in my head
 
He said he wanted to paint me,
That I needed a different shade or two.
So he painted me to misery

Because paint can be scars and bruises too.

 

 

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