The Placid Canvas

I look at the pale white canvas and it stare back at me,
I search for some motivation in its bare surface
But I find none, there is none there.

Nothing but the angular sides of a square
Frustration courses through my veins and sparks off at the synapses,
My mind creaks and groans.

But my face remains placid, Devoid of expression and hollow.
And I choke on what I was never meant to swallow.

I am at school now and receive a scolding,
For matters that remained outside my feeble holding,
The sneers and jeers ought to move my to tears,

But my face remains placid,

Devoid of expression and hollow.

And I choke on what I was never meant to swallow.

Back at home I hear my parents fight,
I cook my own food that night,
And eat alone under the harshness of the fluorescent light.

I wallow over the teasing in school,

Of the times I was made to look a fool.

But my face remains placid,

Devoid of expression and hollow.

And I choke on what I was never meant to swallow.

One month later

I am at school now and receive a scolding,

For matters that remained outside my feeble holding,

The sneers and jeers ought to move my to tears,

But they do not instead I find a voice, that fights and hollers with conviction

My mouth forms words on its own volition.

I return home with the bloody right eye.

With the satisfaction that I saw myself try

then in front canvas do I sit,

And Paint,

I paint with dark hues and bold red

on the edges of the canvas, pale yellows do tread

There is a thin film of the palest pink

And caravans if magic in the darkest black ink

The paint it dripped, the paint it spread,

I looked at the once placid canvas

Where I now could see a reflection of myself.

My face would no longer remain placid and hollow

I would never go back to choking on what I could not swallow