painted words

sometimes i wonder what it would be like to live as a painter.

would it be easier than this thing of creating images with words?

i would have colours then, bright and pale and every shade and hue with which to fill an empty space with brightness.

i would have strokes, broad or thin, richly pattered or intricately traced.

i would have something tangible to show the world.

a canvas that i can hold up, like a child holding up a finger-painting,

see? 

this is what my soul sees...

it's hard to paint with words when i want them to read my soul in just the way i meant it, without any misunderstanding. 

i want them to read my painted words, see them in the way i intended from the beginning. 

i wish i could write in paints, that my words would flow from keyboard to screen in a swirling watercolour rush of blues and greens. 

emotion for tone, passion for hues. 

a living paintbrush that could show the world my soul without confusion. 

but i live with words. i'm a writer.

it's day 2 of NaNoWriMo. seven thousand words swirl with life and fire and so much colour that it threatens to overflow and spatter the ground with life abundant. 

so i see i'm finding the center, this middle ground between paint and ink. i'm finding the way to make sparks fly from keyboard ticks. i'm learning to let the colours arc outward.

to paint my soul with words so others can look and see

see what my soul sees

in black and white

and technicolour. 

{linking today with dear emily and others for this moment of imperfection}