We go through life assuming we're a blank canvas
applying all the things that we feel can describe us

thinking all this collecting is what a man is built of
can never have enough
souls formed from a collage of random stuff
all the junk that you love

consumes us until there's nothing left
internal identity theft
a locked box where the mind is kept
hiding what you can't accept

look through the glass like its a mirror
choke on the fear
no reflection matches like it does here
the doubt is severe

we're not blank slates in need of paint
although its faint
we're concoctions of color under constraint
time to mitigate

we're not broken for others to just throw away
now is the day
dust yourself off and discover the true array
that you can display

its a lot less looking around and more looking in
to understand these colors flow from the beauty within