Friday Poetry: "Canvas"

I woke up at 12:30 PM today and I do not think I have ever slept that long. Winter break is an incredible feeling, oh my goodness.

I'm going downtown to see Interstellar this weekend, which I'm very very excited about—I've read some lovely reviews! Also, don't be alarmed if you can't access the blog this weekend—never fear, it's just me finalising the changes to the new blog. And if you need to contact me, please feel free to do so through email or Twitter.

This week's Friday Poetry was written last week; I'd had the third stanza in my notebook for quite some time, so I thought I might play around with it and see what direction I could take it in. I'm not sure I love the end result—I've changed the last stanza so many times—but I would love to hear what you think! Feel free to leave your comments and interpretations below.

Have a lovely weekend, everyone!

Canvas

once upon a time, an artist loved you
and he made birds grow in your eyes and
flowers bloom from your chest.

he used your blood as ink and your bones as
the finest pen. his hands silvery-soft like a river,
like a star, and if you’d forgotten the way back
home, he drew you a new path. the sound of
sorrow filled your aching lungs, but he took the
broken violins in your veins and turned them into
a symphony.

once upon a time, an artist loved you
and he pulled you apart for the inkwell between
your ribs and the skipping record in your skull.

your song was out of tune, piano keys gathering
dust, palette filled with blacks and greys, but
he loved you fiercely enough that you promised
yourself you could relearn how to speak in colour.
this is how he loved you: with soft surrender,
brushes painting out your sunset song. as he
learned to worship you for the ragged canvas
of your body, you slowly forgot what it meant
to be your own muse.

once upon a time, an artist loved you so deeply
that you were still trying to memorise the song in his
head when his watercolours finally bled you dry.