She draws with graphite
and charcol and pens
I draw with my words
that is all I know and have ever known.
My grandma teaches me with
paints on her lap
I was a "messy painter," not a
I do not know where my words came from.
No one in my family knows
though they guess from the nightly
bedtime stories. But
I like to think
They are all mine.
I am selfish with them, just like my eyes
Blue and gray and green and gold
Came from two parents with eyes bland as coffee,
the same color too. But they say I stole them
from my grandpa on my dad's side.
I steal a lot of things, or so they tell me.
Words, attitudes, accents, faces
So then I figured, why not a kiss?
Why not candy? Why not for snacks after school?
So I did, just to see if I could.
But after I passed on my skills which I had thought
were obvious, I grew guilty of these games.
I quit that, and my little bit of smoking,
to persue a career in theivery and lies
one that glorifies lies,
and uses stolen goods for the people's good
and I can only hope that they
oublier mes errours
and allow me to use my skills
for the good of them
and the world.