Pale Blue Pillars

With every fresh coat of paint stroked between pale blue pillars,
I become less of a girl and more of an
artist.
I'm less of a coward and more of a
hero.
I'm less of a stranger and more of a
cellist.

With every fresh coat of paint stroked between pale blue pillars,
I feel my blood pump with new force as
if the blood pressure rising could somehow
force the symphony out of my soul.
It gets stuck in my heart valves like dried
paint gets stuck in the tubes of acrylic daydream
and no matter how much I prod,
sometimes a toothpick just won't poke it out.
My cape gets stuck in the jet turbine and no matter
how fast I fly, I can't slow
these propellers down,
I can't escape.

With every fresh coat of paint stroked between pale blue pillars,
I feel my body become alive with the prospect
of swirling phrases and infinite possibilities,
locked beneath the surface of a sheet of glass five feet thick.
I can watch them all I want as the
fire within them makes friends with the uncertainty of
melting their being.
I know that they're stuck and no matter how
hard I push, I'll still get a few cutes
trying to pull them out,
I can't escape.

With every fresh coat of paint stroked between pale blue pillars,
I'm less of a cynic and more of a
believer.
I'm less of a daytime creature and more of a
midnight slayer.
I become less of a girl and more of an
artist.

With every fresh coat of paint stroked between pale blue pillars,
it's reaffirmed that this is what I have to do.
Despite the bumps and bruises,
the hiccups and scratches,
the tears and pain,
the sheer bliss.
With every fresh coat of paint stroked between pale blue pillars,
I believe a little harder.
Find hope a little more.
Know a little stronger.

I become less of a girl and more of an
artist.