Monochromatic

I tend to refer to myself as multifaceted.

But how can I say that when all of my emotions blend together,

Leaving me with one muddy pallet?

When everything I say and do I have already said and done?

I am a fraud.

How am I supposed to dream of beautiful self portraits if I only have one color left?

I am not like the stained glass art, with endless parts and pieces.

In reality, I am just one empty canvas.

My timid hand holding the brush,

Wondering how I can make something beautiful out of something so bland.