The Art of Pain

My flaws rewind, I live the heartache that races, My eyes that stored truths, meant to be tormented. How can I ever unhold my pen, When my presence is the problem? Ongoing sense of abjection, Scars that never drew stars but blood. Grappling with doubt and weight, I feel like I would explode. Acted themes of joyful, Yet, I am just a burden in a cage; My slip haunts me, thus it keeps me alive. An obligation that is difficult to fulfill, My immense pride! Dependent on unspoken voices, Unheard, unhealed, unseen, being neglected. Masking pain with a facade of light colours, A intricate pattern, making me whole. The wrinkles and creases, a map of my soul, But my flaws, a vibrant palette, a work of art, I painted with pain, authentically wild and free. Let it linger, to remind and poke me.