I’ve always suppressed myself
too scared to express myself.
Tried to be a blank canvas.
Too scared to start painting, in fear
it would turn out a mess.
Had to be, has to be perfect first time,
Careful brushstrokes; calculate; paint neither too thin nor too thick.
Just paint some pretty roses or a bowl of fruit, nothing that will make a statement,
that people can punch or people can kick.
Blend the colours, so much that they become one,
so that no one may see the rough patches or the contrasts.
A glaze of what I really am,
so thin people see straight through me to the prettier picture I have created beneath.
This false identity that I have so mindlessly become.
Who am I?
The true me is now merely a stain on the so-called ‘masterpiece’