I think – maybe it’s not so hard to be an artist. All you’ve gotta do is color inside the lines, yeah? All there is to it, really. Follow the little curvy bits in the plastic, try not to get your pencil stuck.
I think – if I lift up this stencil, will i ever find exactly where to put it back, or will my lines always be a little off?
I think – Maybe oil painting’s a little more me.
I think – my sister used to paint. That’s weird, I don’t really think of her much these days, but I think she must’ve been into that sort of stuff, because I have this hazy mental image of her with a palette in her hand (or maybe it was a cigarette. Art’s a little like that).
I think – My lines are like two millimeters to the left. Stuff must have shifted.
He traced around her edges with the tip of his finger, the soft grooves of her ribs a sensuous braille, a language he was hungry to learn. Her skin prickled under his touch, the tiny, blonde hairs bristling at the tip of small goosebumps that freckled her back. There was an electricity, an organic magnetism that drew them closer–and that produced a reaction when they touched.
Traced my personality with white chalk.
On a concrete grave, I lie.
Never will live to see regrets.
But time rolls on, my friend.
And youth is nothing but relative
When it comes to someone like me.
I pulled out my box of crafts from under my bed. I hardly touched it – especially since I had graduated from college and I know longer needed it for sorority crafts or graduate school projects. The box was a mess of things I probably didn’t need anymore. Scraps of colored paper and stencils that had no use to me anymore spilled out of the sides of the box.
i used a stencil to carve your name upon my heart
the stencil is worn
i’ve carved your name on every inch of me
i guess it’s good that I can no longer use it
it’s broken
like our relationship
I think – maybe it’s not so hard to be an artist. All you’ve gotta do is color inside the lines, yeah? All there is to it, really. Follow the little curvy bits in the plastic, try not to get your pencil stuck.
I think – if I lift up this stencil, will i ever find exactly where to put it back, or will my lines always be a little off?
I think – Maybe oil painting’s a little more me.
I think – my sister used to paint. That’s weird, I don’t really think of her much these days, but I think she must’ve been into that sort of stuff, because I have this hazy mental image of her with a palette in her hand (or maybe it was a cigarette. Art’s a little like that).
I think – My lines are like two millimeters to the left. Stuff must have shifted.
Stencil me to your wall
walk away to get an eyeful –
all huge and sloppy
and wrecking your decor
That is what I do –
that is the mark I leave, but,
You put me there.
He traced around her edges with the tip of his finger, the soft grooves of her ribs a sensuous braille, a language he was hungry to learn. Her skin prickled under his touch, the tiny, blonde hairs bristling at the tip of small goosebumps that freckled her back. There was an electricity, an organic magnetism that drew them closer–and that produced a reaction when they touched.
Traced my personality with white chalk.
On a concrete grave, I lie.
Never will live to see regrets.
But time rolls on, my friend.
And youth is nothing but relative
When it comes to someone like me.
I pulled out my box of crafts from under my bed. I hardly touched it – especially since I had graduated from college and I know longer needed it for sorority crafts or graduate school projects. The box was a mess of things I probably didn’t need anymore. Scraps of colored paper and stencils that had no use to me anymore spilled out of the sides of the box.
You use it to trace a picture on your page.
i used a stencil to carve your name upon my heart
the stencil is worn
i’ve carved your name on every inch of me
i guess it’s good that I can no longer use it
it’s broken
like our relationship
I don’t know what stencil is.