❝ The Artist Series ❞

Disclaimer: These poems are not about a specific guy, just going to throw that out there. Also, I realized when I went back and read the previous artist series post that I had really messed it up so I had to delete it, but this is the revised and better version of it.  These are some of my favorite pieces of poetry I have written  so I hope you enjoy! 
The Artist 
"He was an artist, and he painted me every shade of the rainbow.  He softened out my edges, and colored in the parts of me that weren't so bright.  And he painted me brighter than the sunshine.  He traced over my scars,  and made me feel  like a work of art." 
The Writer
"He was a writer,  he wrote about me  as if I were a goddess.  He made me out to be the hero,  when really I was my own worst enemy.  But his words meant something. And he spoke about me as if he hadn't met somebody better.  He told me I was his muse for every poem,  for all his love,  and for all of his pain.  And that was charming.  I like the way  he wrote about my pain  but he made it beautiful.  And that's a hard thing to do." 
The Dancer
"He was a dancer,  and the way he moved moved me.  He moved his body in ways I wished I could.  And it inspired me.  He inspired me.  To be a dancer, even though I knew I never could.  He inspired me to move my body,  in ways I know I couldn't.  But that's not important.  What is important,  is that he gave me hope." 
The Singer 
"He was a singer,  and his voice calmed all the anger.
He would sing me to sleep, when my demons were too loud.  He would cut out the noise with the melody in his voice.  He would drown out all the other voices,  leaving only his to calm my soul,  and my restless nights.  His voice was much sweeter than the ones in my head.  And I needed that balance."
The Sculptor
"He was a sculptor he traced the outline of my body and he went over every curve.  he got every detail right,  from the dimples in my back,  to the freckle on my shoulder.  With the way he admired me, I had never felt so alive,  and I had never loved myself more." 
The Architect
"He was an architect.  and he built me the home of my dreams.  It wasn't made out of walls,  and windows,  and a roof.  It was made out of love,  and trust,  and loyalty.  And that's all I could ever ask for.  That is a home." 
The Photographer
"He was a photographer,  with quite an eye for the beautiful things in life.  As he likes to say,  while he takes candid pictures of me.  Of course, I didn't believe him,  but his polaroid pictures  of the beautiful sunflowers in the fall time  proved me otherwise.  And he says I'm just like those beautiful flowers that always reach towards the sun.  A beautiful thing in life,  and that in itself,  made me feel beautiful."