I Really Hurt Myself

I have a tendency to romanticize people.

I take what little I know about them, the barest of strokes.

And add color until I've painted a landscape.

This time, I didn't.

I took what I knew and decided a sketch is fine.

It doesn't always have to be a Monet.

He was brilliant in color himself.

All red hair and blue eyes.

He stood 6'3, standing tall and standing proud.

He fed me lies, fed me beautiful stories and myths.

Made himself to be a God.

But gods don't lie.

Gods don't cheat.

He hurt me in ways I might never heal from.

But more than that, I hurt myself.

I believed in a truth someone else created.

He painted his own mural and told me it was a picture.

Cameras don't lie, but boys do.