I was blank.
A colorless existence with nothing more than a mere outline to hold my soul steady,
An outline child only a mother could love.
I was the grey cloud that floated behind every rainbow,
never to be noticed, never to be seen.
I lived day, by day in a world where darkness overshadowed the colors of my world,
Trapped with no means of escape I allowed myself to remain blank,
While everyone always overlooked me, she took interest in my blankness.
By no means was she an artist but to her I was a blank canvas,
full of potential, full of availability.
To me she was a pallet full of exuberance so with a desire to be stained.
To be noticed.
For the first time in my existence, I allowed myself to be painted.
She dipped her brush into her soul and resurfaced with a shade of yellow and began
to give meaning to my painful existence.
She dipped, dipped, and dipped each time with a new color she painted.
Until Iwas splattered, marked, and tainted with different shades of blues, purples,pinks,and yellows.
I was marked by every color in the world.
My colors shone bright; Iwas no longer a grey cloud concealed by a rainbow.
Instead I became the rainbow itself,
and she remained a pallet repainting me with a stroke of her brush,
whenever my colors began to fade.
I was never again blank.