"As for me, I am watercolor. I wash off."
~Anne Sexton
.

You dip your brush into the blue
—The cool blue of my soul—
And, somehow, the color turns a little darker.
Deeper, calmer.
Soothing brush strokes on an empty page.
Then into the water.

Next, back to the palette: yellow this time.
—The bright yellow of my mind—
And, somehow, the color turns slightly brighter.
Sharper, more focused.
Penetrating brush strokes, interrupting the cool blue lines.
Then, again, into the water.

And, now, the red.
—The red red of my heart—
But instead of deepening, the color turns paler
And paler as the hairs of your brush absorb
Every ounce of color that's left.
Brush strokes now searing my skin.
Piercing brush strokes ripping the page apart.
Then, always, into the water.

The torn paper —what began as a beautiful
Work of art —you throw away.
And as for me, I am watercolor.
I wash off.

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