The simplicity of my words are never heard.
The beautiful things I’ve said will never be read.
I open my mouth, and nothing comes out
and, I am in contempt with this,
...being an empty canvass.
I feel I’ve been writing with disappearing ink,
creating no record of what I think.
I am never seen because I am never heard.
I am invisible and so are my words.
I am invisible because I don’t look the part,
beauty in cased within a frozen heart.
Words and beauty fade away with age,
leaving behind an empty canvass; a blank page.
Even when there’s nothing left
I sing to the ears of the deaf
a beautiful song of hurt and a painful past;
a song of love and a bright future that will never come to pass.
I sing until my lungs are sore
though I know no one will hear my silent out-pour.
Because I look nothing like they hoped.
I am just an empty canvass; black page; silent note.
My skin is everyday brown,
my hair is the same as everyone else’s around
my eyes aren’t a rare color like green or blue
and my smile is nothing new.
They use my appearance to measure my soul,
therefor, I am normal; nothing special.
I am an empty canvass; I am a silent note; I’m unseen art.
I am a blank page; untitled; I am just another broken heart…