The Painter

The way she writes
It’s like she doesn’t even try

Her words aren’t jumbled like mine
They don’t run around in chaos
They don’t haphazardly crash into walls
And fall anonymously in broken nameless heaps on the cold stone floor
Like mine do

She sits down with a piece of paper
And the words flow through her mind like the ink in her pen
She’s an artist of words
Each consecutive phrase a stroke of her brush
And her masterpieces
Never undermine perfection

She captures emotion like windows into the soul
Her poems leave you changed
Each articulate metaphor
Personifies her saturated heartbeats

She sits on the bed across from me
Expressionless
Writing
Constantly writing
Painting
With the voices in her head
And the whispers of her heart

Emotions are the colors on her palette

She engraves a part of her into every line she writes
Her soul is embedded onto the page
And she carves it effortlessly

Then here I sit
Staring at the blinking cursor
Trying and failing
To paint uncertainty into prose
Because numbness isn’t a color

Advertisements

About savannahlyn

I write to articulate what my tongue cannot
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s