The Crumpled Painting

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Victim to the human condition,
I have been torn,
Now scars are born
Where there used to be a picture.
I can’t find it now,
I had a story some minutes ago
That someone smudged,
And I have no idea why –
I don’t understand their ways of life.
Subjected to some critical lies
That failed to notice my details inside
Brought the gavel down
To have me
Chained to a bin,
What a sin
To exist in a judgy world!
Here I thought –
I had so much going on,
All my thousand pores
Had blood pouring in,
I was so very much
Breathing in,
With playful strokes of brushes
That had giggled me alive,
And turned me into what I was –
I thought I was an artistic lust,
And that people must
Love me as much
As I loved to see
The glint in their brooding eyes.
I loved them gazing,
They were so amazing,
Trying to figure me out,
And find a meaning,
For I don’t know much
About the secrets of life.
Those stunning colors
Of white and blue,
Green and red,
Such imposing hue!
Lips of brooms
Had kissed me then
To make me something,
I was nothing once.
Crumpled and broken up,
I thought I had a connection
With my maker,
My! my! such big eyes
And a big brainy head
Had imagined me
With all the sweat,
And abiding attention
That I could never forget.
How did you forget?
About all the time
You had spent
Playing with my hair,
Handling me with care.
I thought of love
When you had thought of me,
I fell for you,
Since you painted me,
And I felt your breath
So close to me,
When you drew my eyes
I saw you smile,
And I knew it –
I was born into safe hands.
Didn’t your hands shake?
When you tried to
Tear me down,
I had teared up,
The paper I am,
I always do,
And my colors too
As if they got jaded
Too quickly with life,
I thought we had just started living.

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