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.
