Maybe

Maybe

If I’m doused in paint--

Shotgunning tiny, colorful pellets

Against my face, neck, and heart

To cover the crushing doubt

Which eclipses over hopeful smiles,

Carefree conversations,

And budding affections--

I’ll come something of value

I’ll drown in sickeningly sweet perfume

Until it diffuses

Replacing natural, human pheromones

With the manufactured essence of love

Along with the ruby-tinted gluestick
Slathered on my lips

To elegantly hush my voice

Maybe then I’ll move to the city

Camouflaging as ancient the grit and dirt
Maybe then I’ll be able to blend into the tagging escapade

Be as vibrant, unique, and controversial as the grafitti

Maybe then,

Despite being only the silent canvas of someone else’s imaginative handiwork,

I’ll be seen as a piece of art.