By Rishimaa Dave
You must be an artist
And I, the canvas
For you paint me red and blue
Every place your hands touch my skin
Blushing reds to bruising blues
Just how it's always been
I want to cry
I want to scream
I want this to be just another nightmarish dream
But when your grip is a little too tight
And your fingers pinch my skin
Your hands wrap around my neck
And your nails dig in
I can't breathe, let alone speak
I freeze and pray and wonder
Why is this how it's always been
Why do I let you do this to me
You must be an artist
And i, the muse
For you paint me in blood and bruise
This colour medium, may be called 'abuse'
Cover up
Full sleeved shirts & full-length bottoms
Bottles of concealer and product
Hiding the swatches of paint, you gave me
And oh, I let one slip,
"What's that?" My mother asked
"I don't know" I lie,
"Maybe I tripped and fell"
So, you paint me red
And you paint me blue,
There's nothing I can really do
I have scars
That have healed and vanished
Yet embedded so deep onto my body
Inscribed into my skin
The scars you left on me
You must be an artist
And I, the art piece
For you've painted me red and blue
Every part your hands have touched my skin
Blushing reds to bruising blues
Just how it's always been.
By Rishimaa Dave
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