Читать книгу Happy, Okay? - M.J. Fievre - Страница 24

Paloma

He doesn’t know me,

doesn’t know

what I’m capable of.

I am a stranger

to myself.

The face

that stares back

from the morning mirror

is a blank canvas

of possibility.

For too many years,

I’ve allowed others

to hold a paintbrush

and splatter their

images across

its surface. It is time

for me

to dip my own

brush into a palette.

More depth

and shallow,

more dapple of light.

More realism

than impression.