drifting like cotton, lost in the wind
wandering, traipsing, struggling, reaching
wading through mire of paints, confused
why is it so wrong to be me?
colors splash through my emotions –
white anger. red rage. gray doubt.
i bloom in yellow and orange. i’m blue when i mourn.
i don’t hold back to feel. i touch it. caress it. grapple for it.
i was carved, molded, sculped
uniquely, fearfully and wonderfully
into the Artist’s likeness
into His image
He wove me as mother weaves colorful fabric
Wrote me into being as author pens his novel
Birthed feelings into my heart as painter bursts colors on his canvas
i am a bearer of the Creator’s being with pulse, intellect and emotions.