She likes to draw

I knew a girl who never knew how to look at herself.
She loved to draw and paint with her fingertips.
Her most startling pieces were self portraits.
They always exposed a tiny part of her heart kept hidden by stifled smiles
and the bones in her chest she layered on daily.
She hardly wears makeup, but keeps her face hidden.
This one her skin is red. Maybe she's embarrassed all the time by something,
maybe she wished she could bleed more.
Maybe she drank too much red wine, slapped herself silly and curbed her behavior.
Maybe she's lustful and longing for someone to touch her,
the passion sweats from her pores.
Maybe she just loves a lot and this red tell us that.
Her hair is always tangled. A haystack with a thousand lost needles
and only finding frustration.
Yet she shares so many memories with that hair.
It's tortured her comb, invaded her thoughts,
it's the only thing she sees in her reflection.
Her eyes distorted and colorless.
She doesn't know how to look at herself.
I see autumn green and the seasons slowly changing and falling in love
when I look at her straight forward.
But to her, she is always askew. To the side.
Her jaw is distorted, teeth oversized
and the helicopter looking thing on top of her head
is because her thoughts are always flying away from her.
She's a too fast thinker and too quiet talker.
She doesnt believe in herself and hasnt learned the lesson of too little pride.

Im not saying one day she'll ever see how beautiful she is,
because rarely people do and admit it.
Her pictures don't need to change either.
Its her truth.
I just want her to know its the best truth I know.

Art by Debbie.  Words by Jordan.