Beauty from Ashes

When we met, I was a canvas

Of bright colors; rich and vibrant.

And you, you were a critic who

Saw me as a great Something.

We blended — our souls mixing;

New paint on a fresh palette.

And we were, for a beautiful,

Shining moment, luminous.

But you’re acrylics to my oil

And when you painted over

My brightness, it didn’t last —

Color peaked through the shadows.

And when you couldn’t just paint

Over me, you burned me out instead:

You were the kerosine to my

Self-destructive lit match.

I was left a blackened mess

Of char and ashes, and hell if

I didn’t paint myself in the

Ashes of whatever we were.

It colored everything —

Ash grey and bleak and i wanted

To be anything but me;

Colorless and covered in cinders.

But, artists have used ash for paint

For eons and so did I —

Beauty for ashes to color

The scarred canvas of my soul.

And, hell, my colors came back —

Blooming over burns left behind

And I don’t ever again want

To be anything except me.