Shades of Art

Women.
I see each of them as canvases these days.

Walking artworks of brush strokes from ex lovers.

There's one I've found myself obsessed with lately.

Lonely canvas with careless dabs of  paint.

I get close,
You can tell everything about an artist from his art.

This one did her no justice.

He was careless with his brush.

His strokes were uneven.

His feelings were just held back and left scars for all to see.

I got attracted to the art.

It hurts to see canvas like her in such a mess.

I want to own it.

Do my own good work on it.

Create a masterpiece for all to admire.

But she's happy the way she is,
she does not need perfection.

I guess that's why i'm attracted to her in the first place. 

So i promise myself,
the next canvas that sacrifices herself to me
will know what real art as.

I'll do the paintings with a knife, brush with my eyes closed
and produce the worst work ever.

For real art...




...is imperfection