Rhyan S.

A Paint's Life

Paint is a person
Each can with its own personality
No batch exactly alike

Each has a best friend
A mint green complementing and matching perfectly to a forest pine
But no being is perfect, there’s always an opposite
An enemy, an ugly rotting murky yellow ready to wreck any marvelous beauty

It can be overshadowed by the bright florescence of a neighboring wall
Staying unnoticed for all its beauty

Paint has its own life cycle
A baby, it’s fresh from a mix of parent colors
Still a sticky wet gooey liquid

A child eager but not yet ready to venture into the world
When released too early marks will be left
Smudges that will travel with them throughout life

The older she gets the more troubles and scar it accumulates
She cracks slowly, forming like crinkly wrinkles
Flakes slowly fall like a snow flurry stretched out over time
Leaving spots and speckles of white wash peeping through out of its covers
Her color worn away and faded to its palest shade

Sooner or later it will be replaced too old to go on
New paint on the tip of a fresh brush sweeps the old away
Erasing her preceded as if there never was one
An unkempt messy and grouchy armor
Hiding a hidden smooth graceful depth

On one canvas it is famous worth millions
Traveling around the world to see and be seen

On another paper it sits on a fridge
Happily thinking about the stain it left on the white rug earlier

Paint can be anything it wants
It is a window, looking into a designer’s talent
A tarp, covering that which no longer wants to be seen
A disguise hiding the truth
But paint is just one person


Copyright 2002-2006 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2006 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.