My arms stretch out ahead of me
Blank canvasses, which, if I want, I can fill
With hurt, and sadness, and the pain of wanting everything to be okay
My arms can show those stories; they have done before, and more besides.
However, that's not all they could show
If I wanted, I could take a pen, and draw
Fill my arms with all that I love, with beautiful things
Until there's no room for anything else
It might make me cry, doing that
But it's okay to cry, and let it all out
Better to cry than to keep hurting, to direct the pain inside.
Once that's done, once my arms are filled to fit no more
I can wash it off, and start again- no marks, no scars
No reminders of how I felt, when everything was wrong.
Of course, it's no fix:
My problems will still be there, I will still be worried and scared and alone
But nothing else I can do would change that, either
And, you never know, maybe being my own graffitti artist
Will be enough to make me smile, even for a moment
My arms stretch out ahead of me- blank canvasses
I want my canvasses
To be happy