Stories To Tell, Places to Be...

Parrrtttttt~

They stare at my work.

My flawed--but still wonderfully perfect work, in it's own beautiful way. The flaws that litter the oil pastel artwork just add to it's magnitude of magnificence. It's me. Me, expressing my feelings on paper.

Stress. The hard lines on the showboard and the red outlining depicts that quite well.

Pain. My scrunched up face shows the feeling I get in my chest all too often. The constricting, constant heaviness that weighs on me on a day-to-day basis. The feeling of loss, regret, heartbreak. They all express the one emotion of true, raw pain.

Confusion. It's written all over my face. The blue used to highlight features on my face is used as a 'frozen feature,' expressing my iced, frozen mind that can't get unstuck. Squinting eyes, trying to focus on something that isn't even in the picture. My jaw is clenched tightly closed, locked into place so no one can see inside me, and I can't let anything out that doesn't need to be.

It's only sad how true a movie can get.

Conceal, don't feel; don't let it show.

The blue tendrils in the background add to the things in this crappy world. They try to grab a hold of me, to tear me away from what matters and into oblivion of unanswered questions. I won't let them. Instead, I allow them to wrap around my form, pulling me in all directions, but never moving me an inch from my state of confusion, pain, stress.

The eyes that give too much criticism stare into the oils of the crayon-type colors. I wish to wipe it away at this point.

Their eyes look to be already judging. I hope to burn it. To have no one see it after this. It's all too much.

The ones closest to you can hurt you the most.

They are quite good at that, aren't they?

Word Count: 321