They Made Me Paint It

Thu, 11/05/2015 - 22:24 -- duffys3

Looking into the eyes of little me

I see the spark of life.

Experimenting with paper and marks,

in perfect solidarity.

in chorus they would chant,

"She's a tiny Monet,

A real prodigy that one is."

Encouragment was all i heard,

Until it was time to grow up.

 

Oh how paper does burn.

Pictures cannot stand the test of time,

Nor Sparks.

Crushing a kids dream

they dowsed my flame.

It was time to decide my life.

 

I was confused,

Had I not?

Did I not make it obvious?

Years spent printing,

And painting,

And cutting,

And pasting.

 

This is who I am.

This is who I choose to be.

Your opinion isn't going to change that.

I am me.

I am an Artist.

 

Now I'm forced to lie.

With the ones I love miles away.

I'm a doctor to be,

or a dentist,

or a surgeon,

The more they know might hurt them.

They made me love my art.

They made me who I am,

But now I can't tell them.

Who I am displeases them.

 

Now all I have are memories.

Like pictures in my mind.

They whirl around like color reminding me.

The spark of life is still inside.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741