Laying Down the Brush

I'm done painting the pretty picture of you.

Photo by Sydney Sims on Unsplash

Standing in front of the mirror to begin my day,
Alone with my thoughts,
I reach to style my hair as I pick up the brush,
I look around, even though you aren’t here, You are,
I await the shouting and the fight,
The accusations,
What if I do?
I lay the brush down.

Staring at the blank canvas in front of me,
Where did that little girl go?
I grab for the paintbrush to try to heal the scars,
I look around for you to be standing in the shadows,
Where am I going that anyone is going to see me?
Who is going to look anyhow?
I lay down the brush.
Why?

I stumble to the closet to choose my outfit for the day,
I sift through the options,
What character do I want to paint today? How do I want to look?
My thoughts still sift back.
How will people see me if I wear these?
Does this make me feel pretty? People might stare if I wear this,
Who is anyone that wants to see this?
I cannot even look at myself,
I lay down the brush.
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