Painting Smiles.

*******

I woke up in the morning to the cold sun shining dark rays through my grime-coated blinds.
The tops of the dead trees were like metal rakes, combing softly through the quickly moving clouds overhead.

I fumbled my way to the speckled mirror to gaze at a cracked reflection,
segmented and unaligned. Bizarre, perplexing, twisted, tired.

A masterpiece of Picasso.

Was it my own? It looked to strange to be mine.

My paintbrushes and paints were lined up in a row. Red, yellow, green, blue, black.
Bright eyes and a rosy smile, I painted on with the careful strokes of a pointed brush.

one stroke
For my dignity.
two strokes
For regret.
three strokes
You had your arm around her.
four strokes
I had to remind myself
five


that sometimes all I can do is paint my way through the day
before I wash it off again at night so I can start over tomorrow.

So I'll wake up every morning
and paint smiles on the cardboard walls. I'll paint the sun; I'll paint the sky, blending my own shades of sadness into something beautiful until I find the right shade of happiness
someday.

But right now, I'll just paint. I'll paint until I fill in every crack and cover every shade of grey.





Some hearts were meant to be broken.