A Blank Canvas

There are streaks on your nose where he struck,

Bruises on your back where his words found their mark;

Dark speckles dot your side where she spat her venom

And told you you’d never be enough.

You scrape underneath the pain,

Lifting years from a canvas once bright–

Leaving chips of the lies they told you

Scattered on the floor.

You’re tracing new lines now,

In skin forever yours,

With brushes untainted

With all of those sores.

You paint upon the surface,

With pigments black and blue,

Lines of orange on your shoulders

Muddled with red.

You’re filling your canvas,

And crafting your heart.

You’re filling your canvas

Finding your soul.

You’re filling your canvas,

And starting anew.

You’re filling your canvas,

And finding you.