Expressing Through a Paintbrush

I lifted my hand to paint again, I stuck my paintbrush in the red paint creating blood for all of the rage I had for the losses I had received in this past year. I opened up a new pack of cigarettes. I took one out and lit it then continued to paint. Smoking was a relief as I continued to poor my feelings onto this canvas. I was zoning in, I could barely hear the buzzing of Lana Del Ray blaring in the background. I stuck my paint brush into the blue, expressing the sadness experienced that came with the losses. As I painted, I took out another cigarette focusing in on the painting. I took my paint brush, put it in the yellow, letting it represent hope in the future. I took a break, emotions drowning me, finishing the pack of cigarettes. I had another pack in my pocket, thinking of my mother, I dug it out and threw it in the nearest trash can. A tear rushed down my face, slowly lifting my hand to wipe it, dozens of tears came bursting out. I sprang back onto my feet, not ready to face defeat to my emotions. I rushed back to the canvas, splattering every emotion I was having onto it. Rage turned into sadness turning into fear and then to hopeful back to rage. I knew I had to leave this place with pride and grace. Finally I had gotten myself together. I promised myself as I left that cancer would not beat me down I would beat cancer.

I lifted my hand to paint again
I stuck my paintbrush into the red
creating blood for all of the rage I had
for the losses received in the past year.

I opened up a new pack.
Taking one out and lighting it.
I continued to paint.

Smoking relieved me,
as I continued to pour my feelings
on this canvas.

I was zoning in
Barely able to hear the buzzing
Lana Del Rays music blaring in the back.
Sticking my paintbrush into the blue
expressing the sadness that came.

As I painted,
I took out another cigarette
focusing in on the painting.
Painting yellow,
letting it represent hope in the future.

I took a break,
emotions drowning me,
finishing the pack of cigarettes.

I had another pack in my pocket,
I thought of my mother,
then I dug it out of my pocket
throwing it in the nearest trash can.
 A tear rushed down my face,
slowly lifting my paint splattered hand to wipe it
dozens of tears came rushing out.

I sprang back to my feet,
not ready to face defeat to my emotions.
I rushed back to the canvas
splattering every feeling I was having onto it.

Rage turned into
Sadness turning into
Fear and then to
Hopeful and back to
Rage.

I knew I had to leave
not without pride
and not without grace.

I had gotten myself together,
Promising myself as I left
Cancer would not beat me down.
I would beat cancer.