Precious Things

I was an empty canvas, I had finally started to paint.

At long last I’d found courage to take up the task,

And I did slowly learn to create.

 
Bit by bit, I shed the scales of fear, but I had only just begun.

A toe, just tipped in the water, years of hiding to be undone.

 
I might have been so beautiful, but you broke into my place.

And I never can stop asking “what else might have been built within my space?”

 
And so, a toe pulled back, hiding  again in fear.

Burrowing ever so deeper to find some safety, even still, after all these years.

 
And yes, I am enraged when I let my fear be known

How else should I expect to feel, when my life has never been my own?

 
You held a fragile piece of what just might have been,

And with a mighty force you shattered it, brought the creation to an end.

 
And so I stand here, a painting I cannot complete.

At times I want to take up the brush, but my will’s become so weak.

… A brush here, a dab there… still I paint the best I can…

With hope one day this painting can still reveal exactly who I am.