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.