The Artist - a poem because I'm too lazy blog

SO YES. A lot has been happening lately, but I'll be posting about that later. Much later. Instead, I'll be posting a poem that I wrote last year. Because why not. Oh, and this poem is about no one in particular, if the person in this poem is a lot like you, it is purely coincidental.

The Artist, she stays up late to paint
pictures where stories are told.

Her studio is nothing but plain white walls 
and old cream colored curtains.
But in the room she finds a story.

Anyone can see the sea, but she observes
waters teeming with life.
Anyone can see a graveyard, but among the
tombstones she sees sorrow and regret.

The Artist, she brings meaningful stories all 
hidden in her masterpieces. 

To describe her sadness, she paints a picture of a 
teenage girl sprawled on the old wooden floor,
crying wildly.

To illustrate happiness, she paints a field of 
multicolored wildflowers, and in the middle of it all,
a little girl and her friend stands.

And to explain death, she paints a man,
standing over a lifeless woman, the sky hanging
over them as an overcast blanket.

The Artist, she flows emotions into her paintings.
She portrays unhappiness,
applies depression,
and if she feels angry, her wrath bursts alive 
like fire on the canvas.

The Artist, she is silent and understanding.
She sees something, she stays quiet about it.
She doesn't tell anyone anything.

All her secrets are whispered onto the canvas.

All anyone has to do is look.

Look closely.