I've had the chance to meet a lot of people and make a lot of friends, and the price of that seems to be that I don't get to keep them all. The memories are exchanged for the heartbreak with every goodbye.
I've learned a lot and grown in many ways, perhaps a little early. I have plenty of things to be thankful for and I shouldn't dwell on the down sides, but it's not easy. I miss so many people and I envy people who have lived in the same house for their whole lives, gone to the same school with the same people and have created a niche for themselves.
I've got a home to go back to, a place where memories paint a sentimental shade throughout the blocks. Even the people remain the same. Perhaps thats the glitch however. They go around layering their canvas with everyday images, where as mine is framed unfinished.
Or perhaps I took it with me and painted new colours. New shapes and designs added depth and durability to the piece of art. It was tricky in the beginning to learn the proper uses of the foreign materials but I eventually caught on. It began to transform from the mess of confusion and transition to a beautiful combination of background, foreground and the new technique of translucent hope. This average technique when unidentified by the average observer but its mystical impression was easily identified by those that studied. Its insurmountable effect was finally obvious as it was diluted by a flood of salty tears and left the painting lacking in magic.
The foreground and background were blurred, making room for the artist to yet again attempt her masterpiece. The artist grows tired as the candle light burns dim. She envies the others who delve in familiar tones with proven tools and create a patterned display full of comfort and security.
The painting is her life. She can not leave it blank or unfinished. No matter how her arm may tire she will pick up the paintbrush. Mixing curiously deep and beautiful colours she will conceive her own rainbow and portray the pot of gold at her choosing.
It gets a little messy
But she's got her own style
It lies not in comfy patterns
But unknown shapes and designs
Covering desperation with depth
Memories paint a sentimental shade
As salty tears blend the background
Void are firmilar tones and proven tools
So it gets a little messy
But she's got her own style
No matter how her arm may tire
She will pick up the paintbrush
Mixing curiously deep and beautiful colours
She will conceive her own rainbow
The pot of gold at her disposal
For her canvas was a gift
And paints a donation
Unwrapped with family
At the expense of teachers
As friends ensure proper keeping
It gets a little messy
As she's only just begun
No masterpiece is promised
But she's got her own style
And in that her impending beauty shines
