I Was a Jagged Line

I Was a Jagged Line

I was a jagged line.

Sharp, unbearable, and wrathful.

Dips and spikes had decorated my lines.

Many pounded on me only to recoil with excruciating pain,

for I was surely not the kind, the kind you'd want to toy with.

Deceitful, dark, and wan.

I was the eclipse that tormented the sun and swallowed its light,

the fangs the lion bared and the poison the snake wore.

I used my briar to protect myself form the outside.

Deep inside I was strained and defenseless,

scared that my foes would kill me with my weakness.

So I built a fort and locked myself inside,

threw away the key and brought a musket at my side.

Shot a few people who were just passing by,

my jagged line began to grow as I murdered inside.

I was a jagged line.

Innocent as a crimson rose,

agonizing as the thickest thorn.

I was like a poison poured into the purest cup.

Sweet with the wine but at the end came the demise,

for I was surely not the kind, the kind you'd want to toy with.

Difficult, bitter, miserable.

My lines had many dents and smudges,

that were in need to be straightened and erased clean away.

The pain was too much to bear and the darkness was near,

I felt like I was dying inside.

My crooked lines had cuts and twists,

tears and blood were all inter-mixed. 

Only one artist noticed and gazed at my deformation.

He took a long eraser and diminished all my impressions.

Grabbed a thin, wet brush and made me into a new black mark.

Had made me into something special that I hadn't been before.

The painter created me into an odd yet unique shape,

and used me to finish a masterpiece;

the smile on Mona Lisa's face.

                                       - 2008