her body is her canvas,
and sometimes she likes to paint
meadows of pinks and greens
across the scars on her legs,
and skies of purples and blues
to cover the stretch marks on her stomach. 
her body is fragile,
and every time she grazes her fingers
over the stinging bruises under her eyes
and the fresh cuts on her arms,
she could hear the faint crack of her porcelain heart,
and she has to close her eyes and take a deep breath,
so a part of her doesn't break again. 
her body is as light as paper
and fragile as glass, 
yet the ink stains on her frock
and the colors splattered on her bedroom wall
are enough for her to forget,
and delve herself deeper into a world of
pink and green meadows and
purple and blue skies,
and despite how broken and torn her body is,
that's the only time she feels,
like she is truly a masterpiece. 

-Maryam (@redvelvet8975)