She was a distinctive girl who likes to switch up her image, says the bottle of hair dye
On the glossy white bathroom counters
A patient girl too, says the oil paint drying
Upstairs on an easel next to her beige art cart and an imaginative mind,
Says the dark contrasting colors of a rainbow on stretched material
In the hair of an african woman, tan background
With the face of empowerment mushrooming across
Used paint brushes hanging and paint residues splattered.
She was a Filipino girl, says the aluminous scent and sizzles followed from her mother’s cooking
Curious to know if it's Kare-Kare this time or Sinigang.
The 80s hits sings through the record player in the middle of the house
Of her father’s taste in music. Shouting.
Murmurs grew louder, says her brother’s obnoxious typing.
W.A.S.D. Fast clicking. Oh, video games.
Every corner was thundering, says the steam in her ears.
Gazing destruction disrupted her paint strokes.
Breathe and try again, says the noise cancelling earbuds put in place
Upstairs where everyone is not. One warm beaming lamp
Pointed at the painted canvas. One brush in hand.
Mindless thoughts, says the jazz exhaling from ear to ear.
Like the senses concentrating - Sight sees blackness surrounding rectangular linen,
Touch - wet colors. Taste - downstairs’ seasonings. Smell- paint fumes.
A focused mentality set and a motivated straight face,
A determined release. Breathe and try again, she says.