The Canvas of Art

People call me a troubled artist,

Plagued by a past that does not define me,

But defines  the people who keep looking back at it.

I hold onto every word,

Storing them in my mind.

I perceive them differently,

Look deeper into them,

Find different meanings from them.

One word creates a whole new world.

One word enhances my imagination.

One word is the structure of my being.

One word is what I am built on.

I see the world differently from most,

Opening my eyes to the things that scare me,

Closing my eyes to the things I have grown used too.

I look at the mountains, the oceans, and the skies,

Searching for the stories they have written,

Searching for the treasures they have hidden.

Every so often wave splashes my back,

Every so often a leaf lands in my hands,

Every so often a cloud paints a picture.

Every so often I am blessed with these puzzle pieces,

Telling me to put them together,

Telling me to make them fit.

So I make my own story with these pieces.

Cutting off the corners,

Creating new edges,

Pasting piece by piece onto a canvas of art.

A canvas that stores my words,

A canvas that depicts my story.

My story.

A figment of my imagination,

A figment of my reality.

My story comes from the open hands,

My story comes from the shut doors.

My story comes from many directions,

But they all lead me to one place.

The one place in my mind,

My canvas of art.

Everyday a new story arrives,

Splattering it's image on that canvas,

Expanding the canvas inch by inch,

Creating the border that are unseen,

Creating the stories that are unheard of,

Except in my imagination.