I’m a blank canvas.

Waiting to be painted.

Longing to feel the warmth of all your colors.

I no longer want to collect dust in your attic of antiques.

Do it.

Use the paint that’s been sitting out in the sun.

Do it.

On me, would you paint your love?

Your lust

Your pain

Your fear

Don’t I deserve your cool hues of purples, grays and blues?

Can’t I too wear rubies?

Can’t I too, see the over saturated, warmth of a sunset and rise?

Can’t I too, be admired for my youth, but also appreciated for my old age like the finest of wines?

Put down your paint brush and use your hands to smear away those defined lines. 

Paint me as the horizon, the mountain side or even, the ocean’s tide.

Use your colors, Use your colors and make me a masterpiece.

That will, last for all of time.

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