'subway in harlem' hearts .

yes, love is graffiti of the heart .

it leaves it real, rococo impression on your vessel of emotion and vulnerability . love sprays calm blues, passionate reds, and mournful blacks on your heart . The person who has your heart does not keep it in their pocket . NO. They unknowingly leave their mark . When they kiss you and your knees buckle, a stroke of spray paint has been left on your heart . Every time they are honest and open with you, a stroke of spray paint is ran across your heart . When they count what's theirs as YOURS , wrists spray on your heart . If they lie , cheat, deceive, or manipulate . . . i like to think an ugly black blob is spilled .

when a girl has too many black blobs on her heart , the gentleman with the yellow paint . . . ready to spray cheer & joy cannot be seen beyond the dark . if you spray enough, it will come through . . . but it takes time . The truth is, if a guy cares enough . . . he'll invest the time, the paint . The rules would be fair if only a 'true love' were allowed to mark up our hearts . Unfortunately, anyone we give our heart to ... leaves their own legacy on our lives .

It's all about the paint perspective . How do we perceive graffiti ? is it beautiful because it doesn't sugar coat ? is it beautiful because it is found on the most unorthodox of surfaces ? Do we find it ugly because it isn't in our art textbooks ? Maybe you perceive your love as a Picasso piece ... admired, analyzed, found in the canon of 'typical' .

Me ? I'll take my chances on graffiti . The kind of love that tells a story worth listening to .

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