A Badge of Honor
I honestly try not to get paint on myself. But, when I finish painting and see the lush colors on my plain skin, I feel a little more alive. Some people can feel alive just with air in their lungs and blood in their veins. But, for me, it also requires Prussian Blue and Burnt Umber on my hands.
posted by TwistedNoggin at 10:21 PM
2 Comments:
I feel the same way about my scars.
trees leave scars.
rocks leave scars.
mountains leave big scars.
I once got a scar from a little girl on a bike (my largest scar, in fact).
storm-door-glass-from-the-house-you-grew-up-in leave scars.
bikes leave scars. wicked scars.
--damn peddles with their angry, sneaker-gripping teeth. Ugh.
You know its DEEP when it actually takes a second to start bleeding. *rubs shin* wicked scar. a-little-less-bone kinda scar.
radiant pools of life well from fresh badges, etching the memory of their formation in my mind.
badges of my being a troll.
You should keep the paint. It looks all exotic and hot and stuff.
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