Creativity.... the ability to transcend traditional ideas, rules, patterns, relationships, or the like, and to create meaningful new ideas, forms, methods, interpretations, etc.
; originality, progressiveness, or imagination.
I once used myself as a canvas to create whatever my soul desired..
My canvas was pure...
blank and left only for me to explore..
It was a heavy durable cotton which absorbed all of my originality and all of my imaginations..
On my canvas.. I'd paint my own Utopia..
a world where I’d danced on clouds without the fear of falling..
night skies were filled with different stars & moons
and love was without condition
On my canvas I’d paint my inner warrior
An Amazonian called to battle in a war against evils
The strength of Samson
Beauty of Cleopatra
I’d paint anything .. and anyone who wasn’t me...
the girl in the ripped blue jeans...
ponytail.. silver hoops and an attitude
Flawed. Simple. Pure.
With that said..
My creativity has since withered.. when others painted on my canvas
My.. caramel frame stained with black and blues...
Running mascara's dripping from Cleopatra's eyes…
from tears pregnant with fear...
Lips muffled by your hands…
My crevice… thrashed by his hate for me
Paining my core with grief
Tongue tasting life
With audacity to whisper in my ear.. “I’m sorry”..
Or was it “…Cum for me”
My breath goes still..
I close my eyes
And feel the taste of India... and the warmth of Africa...
As you invade my motherland
Over, and over again...
Then abstract on my canvas with your venom
Who will want this now?
Wouldn’t it easier just to kill me..?
My hands now hardened from reconstructing the damage to my soul
My heart filled with hate…
It ages me.
It empties me.