| 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.
|
|
|
(Visited 359 times, 1 visits today)
