my drawing skills ain’t great, nothing but stick figures and

triangular dresses to distinguish male and the female figure.

So my blank canvas is a college ruled paper ripped of the coiled spine

and a #2 pencil down to the last of its life.

but let me jot down words like strokes of a painters brush

and write about details of my life, down to my childhood crush.

let me expose my soul through lyrical word play

as a painter does with the use of colors to determine

moods and emotions.

metaphor use and foreshadowing  to take on ideals

and forms of an abstract sculpture.

look at it different, then maybe you’ll see the whole picture.

read it out loud instead of in your mind because

words have more meaning being said, than silently read.

try to create beauty, in which that is not perceived to be

the concept of the general ideal, but see it in its imperfections.

So I can’t draw for shit, I put this in the most vulgar way

because it seems correct to do so, that way I can portray

my skills as a painter, but damn I do hope I painted a picture

in your mind.