Life More Abundant

Your face is a canvas

Your hands are the tools

In which I write pain

And right wrongs

Upon a spine, so stiff

From weathering the storm

Of every man and boy

Who tried conquering

Your guilt

The tears I mix

With my blood, that never

Seems to run out

The strokes are vicious

Oddly timed, and even weird

Nobody likes my streaks

They just don’t seem

To align with the rest

Of all the people I’ve chased

You seem to want to be

And so I mesh harder, faster

My incoherent thoughts

With your considerable thighs

Until I have a portrait

Of a girl, bruised and broken

Cloaked in a shield

Of her own misgiving

I do not want to be

Your knight in shining armor

I do not want to save you

Rather, tell you

That you do not need

To be saved by anyone

Other than the light within

I paint

The portrait of a champion

A warrior, armed with poise


And eyes for life

Life more abundant

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