Broken Canvas

I’m not a doll

With a perfect white face

Pure of wrinkles and freckles

Pimples and moles

Scars and bruises

Painted over with delicate lines of mascara

Patented with bright red blush and blinding lipstick

Fit snug into skin-tight dresses

where the hem’s cut just too short

And the neckline, too low

wrapped in a bow of ankle-breaking high heels

I’m not slow

Like a symphony slowing down,

So don’t call me a ritardando

Don’t pick us last for every sport in gym

And don’t laugh at me when I get Jackie Chan and Patrick Chan confused

I’m not incompetenant

And I’m not neurotypical,

But I can understand your cruelty

And I know how to throw a punch

I’m not another fire needing to be put out

So don’t treat me like a troubled child

I’m not throwing a tantrum for attention

I’m not lazy

I’m trying to talk to you

but you refuse to hear me

I’m not a liar,

No matter how many times you say so

but I can tell when you are,

When you say simple things like

“I love you.”

I’m not a painting to be put on display

So the critics can laugh at my Picasso lines

And snicker at my staccato stutters.

I’m a priceless piece of art

A canvas still on its eisel

Half-blank and half-blue

a wistful dream of its last stroke.