Sometimes I forget my skin is a canvas but somedays I remember it really is.
That each and every mark holds tales of many stories.
Some may try to change its look hiding things the masterpiece has been through while others wear their imperfections proudly.
Some people even seem quick to judge jagged scars as ugly
but yet they are the ones screaming at art work on the wall made of acrylic paint
talking about its beauty,
But yet, they do not see how our skin is the same.
That the colors from red to white, to black and brown are just splatters of paint on our canvas of imperfections.
Art isn't meant to be pristine but of may marks holding may meanings, which is worth more than flawlessly beautiful things.
Instead artwork is much more than beauty
but of hundreds of story glowing brilliantly bringing its own type of flawed beauty.
Oh, how wonder our skin canvases are.
YOU ARE READING
Trio Of Words
PoetryPoetry from the corner of my little world. Another freestyle poetry book. "You finally saw that I was a puzzle piece that wasn't complete, but aren't we all when our emotions fall?" "So these are all things that keep playing back to me in poetry. A...
