Blank sheet takes on character

I am a blank piece of paper, your very own paper doll.

Prepare your scissor-sharp tongue and begin to make your incision through the clean page.

Cut to your heart’s desire.

Use your dagger words and shape me to your image for I can no longer follow my own design.

In an art room influenced by the desire of being another, I am asking to not be an abstract original but rather another factory made.

I prefer the thought of being a settlement of many, than a statement of one.

Take me into your portfolio, I will fold to your word, bend to your beliefs and accept that in your hands, I will find no better.

I was once so large with life and opportunity, yet under your guidance, my naivety has been cleared, and I am smaller, more precise than ever.

You have carved your imagery into my paper thin esteem, making me into what should be the most exquisite piece of art you have created.

Yet, now you begin to unfold me, the creases in my pages appear.

I am no longer the clean piece of paper you began with.

I am cracked.

I am not the perfection that you seek, but a reminder that every decision you make can lead to damage.

In your eyes, what worth can a damaged piece hold?

You remove yourself from the creator’s chair and walk away.

Left with the creases you have imprinted in my being, I am alone.

I am lost in your absence, as the light of my pathway has flickered off.

Sitting in the darkness, my growth seems to have been stunted.

I fold myself over, trying to make myself feel as small as possible, just like you did to me all that time ago.

For who would associate with a collection that has no designer label?

I sink to the floor, slither into the thin gaps of splintering wood and allow myself to feel forgotten, to feel alone, to feel I am nothing without you.

However, the cracks, deep within the shadows, do not allow me access.

I relish. I am small, small enough to disappear, but my paper thin skin has thickened.

For every fold in your absence, it has made my paper stronger, doubling in strength.

To show on my own accord, I am now in control of how I paint my picture, whether that be to see myself shrivel, shrink and believe that I am not good enough for you.

To let you continue your career, creating works of perfection that will never live to your expectations, or I can allow myself to let go of this past and unfold the bigger picture, to admire the creases in my page, to read the stories that each line screams to share and delight in the words that spill across my canvas.