Heart of Art

Your favorite hobby is toxic relationships,
With men who won't even put a label on it.
They want you when they want you,
But not when you want them.
Your soul is a work of art;
That you've let float away in a flooded basement.
Drowned out and faded,
Looked at your whole life but never touched.
Metaphorically of course,
Because you've been touched before;
By hands that meant more harm than good.
You're an empty canvas now, lying on the wet floor,
Patiently waiting for an artist to walk through the door, and make your soul whole again.