2016 Fundraiser: We depend on donations from our community to create a safe place for poetry online. This is the one time of year we ask, so thank you for considering a small donation to support our great work. Learn more about our story

Self Portrait

If you'd have asked me months ago

I never would believe,

But now the portrait on the wall

Prepares herself to leave.

Twelve months ago a lovely maiden

Helpless and naive

But now I am a woman

There's no more time to grieve.

A fresh new coat of my own paint

A real masterpiece

For covering my portrait

The gesso spreads with ease.

I know not what my paint will choose

Not ocean, flowers, nor trees,

For this is my own life.

I do not aim to please.

 

A base of warm dark blue

For the trust I had in a boy.

It backfired.

Splashes of  yellow

For the joy I had

While it lasted.

Yellow also for its secret sadness.

I had much of my own.

Grey for the emptiness,

The days of depression. 

Crimson for the scars,

Scars that made me grow, 

Scars to remind me

Of the man who died to save me. 

His strength gave me confidence

In clean, creamy white.

Beside this, a lavender

For peace and calm and quiet. 

The violent orange of panic attack 

Is covered in its cool, 

And last a touch of teal

For I am independent now.

 

I finish up with a brush of gold,

My work is now complete.

It's perfect imperfection

Not orderly or neat.

No longer just a girl in love

Tested in brutal heat,

But a work of strength that's so unique

The demons fall back in defeat. 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments