Masterpiece – A Poem

I am a masterpiece in progress.
Constantly
Endlessly
Painting and repainting my bones
In the colour that I think fits me best,
But nothing stays just right for very long.
At first a colour may seem rich
And powerful
Like the passion of burgundy red,
But as it seeps into my marrow
It becomes nothing but a symbol of blood.
I analyse the inadequacies
Until discontent fills me
And I must paint my bones a new colour.
But I don’t think I’ll ever be just one.
My world is too complex for simple.
I am made of a rainbow
Of layers of hues,
Forever growing
And adding to the intricacies of the structure
Of the entanglement of my bones.
I may not be who I once was
But at least I have paint chips
To remind me.
Perhaps I will never be happy enough
With the art of me
To stand myself in a gallery.
But then again,
Art is never finished, only abandoned.
And I don’t plan on ever
Abandoning myself.