February 1, 2016

I write manic but content 
My mind is a paragraph
My body is bent
Depression is slept into silence
Though I know good feeling could be violent
And so I end a conversation I've had with myself
For self-induced pain need not be felt
I aim for happiness and a life full of joy
Comparing it to a picture of I as a boy
Innocent he was, with a sick mother whose illness he judged
But now he has felt it, and his self portrait is smudged
I pull out a new canvas and fresh paint to play with
For in this life, I am still the same person, and so my voice shall state this 
I loved myself then, and I love myself presently
And so I will paint a new face, with colours, bright strokes and beautiful life indefinitely
My mother inspires this painting
For even as I begin, I feel myself changing




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