Painting

I have bought paints in red and blues,
in sunset orange and forest greens:
brushes in a thousand sizes,
thick, thin, and flat as stones.

So watch now as I trace the paint,
up and down my pale arms,
covering up the cracks and creases
formed as I wither away.
See as I paint my cold, blue lips red,
fill my dark, empty eyes with blue.

I paste on smiles, skies of blue on what once was grey,
laughter over the racking sobs,
put the dot of white paint-
the sparkle in my eyes- back,
from when I lost it long lives ago.

Learn to love the painted shell I make:
so beautiful in broken form,
perfect in its imperfection.
And I will leave this case behind,
when no one watches any more.
I shall wander where the willows sway,
I will search,
for the Light.