Once upon a time, I was scribbled onto a spare piece of paper.
I was drawn in a bold, black ink. I was power. I was bravery. I was living, breathing , darkness, dancing upon a piece of paper.
I tried to dance the darkness away, because darkness will always become your foe, and I was searching for my one day.
When I was younger, I would dance between the lines of my paper, and stomp on the margins when anger became at one with me.
But lines fade.
Dancing was replaced with sitting still, scratching upon already scratched sketch marks. Hoping that todays would not sketch far. Anger was less a loud stomp upon a margin. And more a smudge of salty water. Leaving a smudge of black ink, that stains.
I was drawn in bold black ink.
by somebody with no name, who told me I could not think.
I was power.
I was bravery.
I was living, breathing, darkness dancing upon a piece of paper.
But that’s all it is, paper.
And this is all I have become, smudged black ink lines, which have been redrawn and erased a hundred times.
Because its all lies.
Life is a piece of paper.
But I was never an illustrator.
I am just drowning in black stains and reapplying sketch marks, in a unreadable chapter of a book titled ‘ life’, smudged by salty water and silent screams that smear.
I am here to make life look pretty, so I must stay within the lines and not dance on margins.
I was never an illustrator.
I am an illustration, I was drawn in black bold ink.
I am power.
I am bravery.
I am living, breathing darkness, dancing on this piece of paper.
But that’s all it is.
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed.
Please like, comment and follow my blog if you would like to, It means the world to me.